-AND- 


3N,  PATRIOTIC' 


OEMS, 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE   INDIAN  QUESTION. 


YOUNG  KONKAPUT, 

THE 

KING    OF    UTES, 

A 

LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES. 


AND 


OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


By  THOMAS  NELSON  HASKELL. 


DENVER,  COI,O.: 
COLLIER  &  CLEAVELAND. 

1889. 


COPYRIGHT,  1889,  BY  THOS.  N.  HASKELL. 


EtECTROTYPED    BY 

FRANK   REISTLE. 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  welfare  of  our  colored  races,  and  the  enter- 
tainment of  fair-minded  people  who  desire  the  useful- 
ness and  honor  of  our  country,  the  elevation  and  im- 
mortality of  our  Indian  brethren,  and  the  happiness 
and  progess  of  American  home  life,  this  volume  is 
cordially  and  respectfully  dedicated  by  the  author. 


PREFACE. 


This  book  is  chiefly  for  American  youth ;  but  as 
men  and  women  are  matured  boys  and  girls,  it  offers 
entertainment  and  instruction  to  persons  of  every 
age,  race  and  sex,  and  if  it  shall  afford  them  useful 
pleasure,  it  will  of  course  be  read,  analyzed  and 
passed  along.  It  is,  however,  unambitious  and  only 
like  itself.  Its  practical  object  is  to  impress  upon  our 
rising  public  some  of  the  real  deserts  and  difficulties 
of  "The  Indian  Question  in  the  United  States,"  and 
incidentally  treat  of  our  relations  to  other  races 
also.  It  was  hastily  written  ten  years  ago,  in  a  time 
of  great  popular  excitement  and  personal  sorrow  over 
the  sufferings  and  death  of  some  of  my  near  and  dear 
friends,  by  savage  treachery  and  cruelty. 

The  work  was  undertaken  as  a  diversion  from  grief 
and  from  too  great  tension  of  mind  upon  other  mere 
solid  writings  then  in  hand.  It  is  offered  to  the 
public  now,  in  preference  to  other  finished  works, 
because  it  is  lighter  reading,  and  perhaps  suited  only 
to  a  temporary  service.  I  need  not  say  it  is  published 
with  unaffected  doubt  and  diffidence. 

By  the  bloody  tragedies  of  1879,  m  Colorado,  the 
ethics  of  our  treatment  of  the  Indian  tribes  was 
forced  anew  upon  the  attention  of  the  civil  world,  and 
I  commenced  writing  very  rapidly  upon  the  subject, 
in  so  discursive  a  manner  as,  intentionally,  to  go 
lightly  over  the  whole  ground,  from  sea  to  sea  and 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  by  specific  and  supposed 
examples  to  suggest  and  illustrate  nearly  every  phase 
of  savage,  civil  and  philanthropic  life — blending  and 
7 


viii.  PREFACE. 

contrasting  character  and  conduct  in  the  most  enter- 
taiuing  and  instructive  ways  possible  in  such  a  diver- 
sified and  yet  limited  work.  The  book  is  on  the  plan 
of  my  "Last  L/one  Indian,"  published  in  Ohio  years 
ago  to  please  my  students  and  a  few  antiquarians,  in 
the  "Western  Reserve."  It  claims  no  peculiar  merit 
of  any  sort,  and  is  written  in  the  simplest  style  of 
verse,  because  it  is  more  suited  to  the  subject  and  end 
sought,  and  would  be  the  better  diversion  in  that  way  ; 
also,  poetic  license  and  restraint  seemed  necessary 
to  the  proper  blending  of  rude  and  cruel  barbarism 
and  Christian  civilization  and  culture,  such  as  must 
be  done  in  the  evolution  of  a  true  Indian  romance 
now.  I  trust  the  leading  characters  will  be  found 
life-like  and  fit  to  live.  Some  disgusting  features 
must  of  course  appear  in  all  true  pictures  of  savage 
people.  A  little  quiet  burlesque  will  now  and  then  be 
found  upon  similar  follies  of  civil  life,  without  referr- 
ing the  reader  directly  to  them. 

Being  myself  a  firm  believer  in  the  "Bible  as  the 
Book  of  Christ"  and  in  Bible  reading  as  the  essential 
basis  of  safety  to  our  Republic,  I  have  endeavored  to 
create  the  best  Biblical  Christian  hero  that  I  could  from 
an  aboriginal  barbarian,  and  to  give  him  all  the  personal 
excellences  which  converted  and  pious  savages  have 
so  far  evinced.  There  is,  however,  about  him  enough 
of  the  fanciful  and  romantic  to  let  the  readers'  imagi- 
nations revel  and  run  at  large  as  freely  as  they  will. 
I  give  him  the  name  of  Konkaput,  because  by  this  a 
favorite  Indian  student  who  recited  to  me  in  college 
was  known — though  I  have  never  heard  from  him 
since  he  "  went  west  to  find  his  dusky  mate."  I  have 
called  the  heroine  Shawsheen,  both  because  that  is 
the  Indian  name  of  a  river  on  whose  banks  I  courted 
my  wife,  and  it  is  also  easily  converted  into  "  God- 
bless-Susan,"  whom  I  shall  amply  describe,  and  of 


PREFACE.  ix. 

whom  humanity  will  forever  feel  proud.  The  repre- 
sentative of  the  negro  race,  Zinziba,  is  typical  of 
many  a  fugitive  in  those  dark  and  distressing  pro- 
slavery  days.  The  course  of  our  country  toward  all 
the  colored  races  is  enough  set  forth  to  meet  the 
essential  issues  in  each  case,  and  the  book  evolves  the 
Indians'  real  and  fancied  rights  and  wrongs  as  fully 
as  my  imagination  could,  in  so  rapid  and  itinerant 
strides.  In  further  explanation  of  the  Romance  and 
its  Key,  let  me  here  reprint  a  letter  from  Milwaukee, 
published  in  the  "Chicago  Tribune,"  October,  1879  : 

TRUTH   STRANGER   THAN    FICTION. 

Major  Whitely,  of  Racine,  formerly  Indian  agent  to  the  Utes, 
is  here  in  Milwaukee  now,  and  has  taken  a  deep  interest  in  all 
that  has  lately  transpired  in  connection  with  those  savages.  He 
says  :  "  The  Utes  average  better  than  most  other  western  tribes, 
and  are  more  susceptible  to  Christian  civilization.  They  have 
the  same  relative  grades  of  intelligence  as  white  people,  and 
always  two  political  parties — one  for  peace  and  obeying  treaties, 
and  the  other  in  favor  of  turbulence  and  plunder."  In  the  three 
years  of  Major  Whiteley's  agency,  he  never  discovered  dissatis- 
faction or  unkind  feelings  on  their  part  toward  him  or  the  Gov- 
ernment. This  he  attributes  to  the  fact  that  he  had  restored  to 
them  their  favorite  young  squaw,  King  Ouray's  sister,  who  sub- 
sequently saved  the  lives  of  the  Meeker  women. 

While  on  his  way  to  the  Hot  Springs,  in  Middle  Park,  the 
Major  was  overtaken  by  a  messenger  from  Governor  Evans,  who 
told  him  of  the  rescue  of  the  Ute  squaw  from  the  Cheyennes  and 
the  Arapahoes  by  the  United  States  soldiers  at  Fort  Collins,  Colo- 
rado. Those  savages  had  captured  this  young  woman  in  some 
recent  raid  against  the  Utes,  and  while  encamped  near  the  mouth 
of  Cache  le  Poudre  river,  had  determined  to  burn  her  at  the 
stake.  The  United  States  Commander  at  Fort  Collins,  hearing 
of  this,  took  a  detachment  of  troops  and,  by  alternate  threats 
and  promises,  obtained  her  release,  after  she  had  been  bound 
and  the  fire  lighted. 

This  squaw  was  forwarded  to  Major  Whiteley,  and  sent  by 
him,  under  care  of  interpreter  U.  M.  Curtis,  to  the  borders  of 
Utah,  where  she  was  received  with  demonstrations  of  great  joy 
by  her  people. 

The  Major  gave  this  Indian  girl  the  name  of  Susan  (or  Shaw- 
sheen),  meaning  either  a  rose,  or  a  shining  river,  a  name  which 


x.  PREFACE. 

she  has  greatly  honored  and  by  which  she  is  still  distinguished. 
A  remarkable  coincidence  in  this  case  is  that  the  Meekers 
were  founders  of  the   "  Greeley  Colony,"   which  is  on  the  spot 
where  Susan  was  saved  from  death  by  white  men. 

We  need  no  further  preface  than  this  now,  except 
to  record  my  gratitude  to  my  artists,  and  to  Messrs. 
Hooper,  of  the  D.  &  R.  G.  R.  R.,  and  Wood  &  Tarn- 
men,  of  "The  Great  Divide,"  and  others,  who  have 
aided  in  the  illustration,  printing  and  publishing  of 
this  hastily  prepared  book.  Inevitable  mistakes  will 
be  found,  (such  as  canonizing  the  Canaanite,  page  109, 
and  inverting  a  fossil,  page  116),  but  not  more  than 
occur  in  the  best  regulated  book  or  household.  I 
ought  also  to  say,  perhaps,  that,  while  the  work  was 
written  chiefly  for  the  young,  I  have,  when  writing  it, 
thought  also  of  all  sorts  of  readers — even  of  anony- 
mous critics,  of  whom,  however,  authors  think  little, 
except  as  of  gratuitous  advertisers.  I  suppose  no  one 
will  so  severely  review  this  book  as  could  its  own 
author,  and  yet  I  venture  to  send  it  forth  on  its  mis- 
sion, hoping,  with  all  its  faults,  it  may  be  well  received 
by  both  the  press  and  people  of  Colorado  and  in  some 
other  parts  of  our  beloved  country.  At  best, 

It's  a  mere  skirmisher  on  our  frontier, 
And  put  forth  now  as  a  rough  pioneer  ; 

Like  some  Saint  John,  simply  to  lead  the  way 
For  deeper  "Ethics  "  at  an  early  day, 
When  I,  to  old  and  young,  will  make  appeal 
To  love  our  Country,  and  its  ills  to  heal ! 

T.  N.  HASKELI,. 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  A.  D.  1889. 


SCENES 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 


Contents  of  Konkaput. 

PAGE 

Birth  Place  and  Parentage    ..........  i 

Queen  Piesse  and  Her  Pappoose    ........  6 

Her  Pappoose's  Ruling  Passion  .........  8 

He  Would  a  Hunter  Be   .............  10 

The  Challenge  to  the  Chase  ...........  14 

The  Forest  Fire  .................  16 

Portraits  of  the  Parks  ..............  18 

Pastimes  in  South  Park  .    ............  22 

Kills  an  Elk  and  Is  Crowned  King  ........  27 

Fatal  Strife  and  Future  State   .........  31 

Pelters  and  Their  Plans  .............  35 

Young  Hunters  Leaving  Home   .........  39 

Shawsheen's  Lonely  Musings  ..........  42 


Horse  Race  and  Bad  Results   ..........  -48 

Ute-Apache  War     ................  53 

Course  of  Fur  Caravan    .............  58 

By  Rivers'  Course,  An  Elk  in  Use  ........  61 

Sad  Effects  of  Silly  Feasts     ...........  64 

Legation  to  Salt  Lake  .............  68 

Received  Back  and  Give  Report     .......  72 

They  Had  Killed  Another  Ute     .........  75 

Four  Spanking  Deer  in  Spans     .........  78 

To  Glen  Eyrie  Gone  ..............  84 

Apostrophe  to  Old  Stone  King    .........  86 

The  Maid  in  White  and  Battle  Scenes    .....  89 

Plan  of  Search  for  Poor  Shawsheen  .......  94 

His  Search  Alone  and  a  Squaw's  Song    .....  96 

Cheered  by  "Chance"  and  Pergamance     ....  100 

Seeks  the  Sioux—  A  Council  Fire  .......  103 

Their  Sun-Dance  and  Sacrifice  .........  108 

His  Escape  With  Antelope  :   Opeeche's  Help  .   .  112 

From  Mountain  Gate  to  Ocean  Coast  ......  114 

riis  Long  Soliloquy  on—Suicide    ........  121 

The  Wrecked  Tars  Repeat  Their  Tales         ...  128 

Slave  Zinziba  Says  What  Is  True  ........  130 

What  Men  Saw  in  the  Slave  Mart  ........  133 

The  Slave  Tells  of  Sundered  Ties     .......  137 

From  the  Capitol  to  a  Cave  in  Oregon     .....  140 

The  Sailors  Hail  a  Ship  Ahoy  ..........  144 


xii. 

SCENES 

XL- 

XLI. 

XI.II. 

XLIII. 

XI.IV. 

XLV. 
XLVI. 
XLVII. 

XI,  VIII. 

XLIX. 

I/. 

LI. 

LII. 

Lin. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 
I,  VIII. 


LIX. 

LX. 

LXI. 

LXII. 

LXIII. 

LXIV. 

LXV. 

LXVI. 

LXVII. 

LXVIII. 

LXIX. 

LXX. 

LXXI. 

LXXII. 

LXXIII. 

LXXIV. 

LXXV. 

LXXVI. 

LXX  VII. 

LXXVIII. 

LXXIX. 

LXXX. 


CONTENTS. 

The  Sick  Master  His  Slave's  Guest  .  . 
Their  Disclosure  to  Each  Other  .... 
From  Hermitage  to  College  Halls  .  .  . 
How  He  Quotes  God's  Great  Questions 
Search  Again  for  Fair  Shawsheen  .  . 
From  Ocean  Coast  to  the  Ute  Camp  . 
The  King  Revealed  to  His  Ute  Friend 

His  Message  Hence  to  Mercer 

Eagle's  Nest  and  On  Pike's  Peak  .  .  . 
Fremont  Pass  and  Holy  Cross  .... 
Arrow's  Tent  and  Lightning's  Stroke  . 
King  Konkaput's  Appeal— He's  Killed 

Two  Indian  Funerals  Now 

Mercer's  Entry  on  the  Scene 

Letters  by  Borgia  and  Zinziba  .... 
The  Penciled  Notes  of  Konkaput  .  .  . 
Colonel  Shaw  and  His  Witnesses  .  .  . 
Arrow's  Penitence  and  Power  .... 
Tutor  Mercer  and  His  Mission  . 


PAGE 

.  147 

•  155 

•  159 
.  162 

.  166 

.  172 

•  174 
.  177 
.  179 
.  184 
.  187 
.  197 
.  198 

.  201 

•  203 
.  205 
.  207 
.  209 


TIHIIE 


Breaking  the  Secret 215 

Massacre  of  White  Men 216 

Josephine  Meeker  to  Frank  Dresser 218 

Dresser's  Fight  Alone  With  Death 220 

Farewell  to  Father  Meeker 221 

The  Soldiers  Besieged .' 223 

Their  Supplication  and  Song 224 

Martial  Mourning  over  Murdered  Men 226 

The  Painful  Suspense 227 

"Josie"  Meeker's  Fearless  Motto 229 

Carle  Adams  Comes 230 

Ute  Council  on  Rio  Grande 231 

Susan's  Appeal  for  Her  Pale  Sisters 238 

The  Captives'  Flight 242 

In  Memoriam — Miss  Meeker's  Death 244 

Chief  Arrow — Ouray,  too,  Dies 246 

"God  Bless  Susan,"  First  Set  in  Song 247 

It's  Said  "Old  Pseudo  Colorow's  Dead  !".   ...  249 

A  Barbarous  Race  May  Rise  in  Beauty  ....  250 

An  Ode  to  Pauline — Indian  Paragon 251 

Ah-Sam  in  the  Arctic  Scene 253 

Ute  Jack's  Final  Issue 256 


Illustrations. 


NO. 

PAGE 

1. 

Bust  of  Konkaput  —  Title  Page    

2. 

Author's  Portrait  

3. 

Twin  Lakes—  Frontispiece    

4. 

Piesse    

5 

5. 

Deer  

8 

6. 

Indian  Horseman   

14 

7. 

Buffalo  Hunt    

15 

8. 

Minehaha  Falls  

.    .      26 

9. 

Shawsheen     

28 

10. 

Buffalo  Head     

4i 

11. 

Racing  Indian  Boys  —  In  Burlesque  

49 

12. 

Canon  Walls  

...      54 

13. 

King  Colorado  I  

57 

14. 

Diana  on  Her  Stag               

.       .    .    .      61 

15. 

Indian  Spy    

7i 

16. 

Alone  at  Sea  in  Sight  of  Land     

77 

17. 

The  Young  King's  Elk  ... 

78 

18. 

A  Flock  of  Deer  

79 

19. 

Four  Spanking  Deer  in  Spans    

81 

20. 

Bald  Eagles  Tamed  

83 

21. 

The  Old  Stone  King  and  Queen  

S7 

22. 

Rainbow  Fall  and  the  Chief  in  Grief   

89 

23. 

The  Woman  of  Seven  Water  Falls    

9i 

24. 

Twin  Lakes  After  the  War  and  Fire     

95 

25. 

Council-Fire  About  Konkaput    

1  06 

26. 

Opeeche—  Good  and  Fair    

113 

27. 

A  Wild  Horse  

"4 

28. 

A  Wild  Scene  With  Webster's  Head    

H5 

29. 

A  Fossil  Found    

....    116 

30. 

Konkaput's  Cave    .   .    .    . 

....    119 

31. 

The  King  Contemplating  Suicide  

....    1  20 

32. 

Indians  Inviting  Whites  to  Come  

....    124 

33. 

Slave  Boy  Zinziba  With  Cotton  Basket    

....    137 

34. 

A  Cliff  Dwelling     

....    146 

35. 

Konkaput  at  College    .   . 

....    157 

36. 

Gateway  Toward  Pike's  Peak     

....    175 

37. 

Bald  Eagle  and  Her  Young     

....    176 

xiv.  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

NO.  PAGE 

38.  Mount  Holy  Cross  in  Misty  Halo 180 

39.  The  Clear  Crest  of  Mount  Holy  Cross 183 

40.  King  Arrow's  Tent 185 

41.  King  Konkaput's  Last  Appeal 189 

42.  Five  Wild  Apache  Youths 192 

43.  The  Same  Four  Months  in  School 193 

44.  A  Bust  of  Zinziba 201 

45.  Borgia 202 

46.  Colonel  Shaw 204 

47.  Tutor  Mercer 209 

48.  Chalk  Cut  of  Four  Pawnees ....  211 

49.  Likeness  of  Father  Meeker 213 

50.  A  Deep  Canon 225 

51.  Miss  Josephine  Meeker 229 

52.  Scene  on  the  Rio  Grande 234 

53.  Susan  Pleading  for  Her  White  Sisters 238 

54.  Mrs.  Meeker 241 

55.  Flight  by  Stage  aud  Rail 242 

56.  Likeness  of  Ouray 246 

57.  The  Cross  at  Lena  Delta     253 


YOUNG  KONKAPUT, 

THE  KING  OF  UTKS. 

^2  ljsegei|-cL  of  ^wirj  Ijsal^es. 

SCENES    I. 

THE   BIRTH-PLACE,    PAPPOOSE   AND   BRAVE   PAPA. 

ft  was  the  year  of  shooting  stars,  * 

A  date  still  memorable,  indeed, 
When  heaven  seemed  turned  to  hosts  of  Mars. 

And  meteors  fell  in  martial  speed 
As  fiery  orbs  upon  the  earth, 

Seen  both  by  savage  and  by  sage — 
That  brought  King  Konkaput  to  birth, 

And  prefaced  many  a  printed  page. 
The  place  was  suited  to  the  time; 

Upon  the  summits  of  the  globe, 
Where  mountain  echoes  meet  and  chime,. 

And  every  climate  wears  its  robe. 
Saguachef  and  Park,  with  snowy  chains, 

Support  it  widely  east  and  west, 
In  valleys  where  rich  verdu-e  reigns 

And  soft  winds  rock  the  woods  to  rest. 
Near,  tall  Mount  Lincoln's  tempest  speaks 

Borean  breaths  of  cool  command, 
While  Yale  and  Harvard,  southern  peaks, 

Responsive  stand,  in  tones  more  bland; 
Then  Elbert  rises  nearer  north, 

And  Peak  La  Plata  in  the  south, 
To  telephone  both  back  and  forth 

Great  Manitou'sJ  own  word  of  mouth. 


*  The  most  remarkable  phenomenon  of  shooting  stars  ever 
seen  and  recorded  by  man  was  Nov.  13,  1833. 
f  Pronounced  Sa-wach. 
j  Manitou,  Great  Spirit. 


YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Between  Twin  Lakes,  here  bosomed  high,  * 

A  wigwam  opening  to  the  east, 
To  see  the  sun  ascend  the  sky 

And  usher  in  his  natal  feast, 
Was  the  first  home  our  hero  had  ; 

Where  infancy  with  fondling  care 
Arose  in  stature  to  a  lad, 

Well  wrapt  in  robes  of  fox  and  bear. 
His  papa  here,  a  high-born  chief, 

Both  straight  and  bright  and  strong  and  brave, 
Forebodes  with  fear  the  firm  belief 

His  son  will  sometime  be  a  slave  ; 
Some  superstitious  dream  of  his 

Had  filled  w7ith  dread  his  future  years, 
Laid  bonds  on  Indian  liberties, 

And  forced  fond  hopes  to  yield  to  fears. 
King  Colorado  was  his  name  ; 

Tradition  traced  far  back  his  line  ; 
His  family  was  one  of  fame 

Who  shared  in  lives  that  live  and  shine  ; 
And  yet  his  name  rose  from  red  clay,  t 

Whence  all  the  Indians  have  come  down, 
And  the  red  race  must  pass  away 

If  his  one  son  should  lose  his  crown. 
The  sons  take  not  the  names  of  sires, 

But  of  the  rocks,  the  bear,  the  crow — 
As  one  deserves  or  else  desires  ; 

As  Ac-I-Apo-Co-Ego 
Was  called  Red  Snake,  while  King  Red  Eyes 

Was  A-Ca-Wa,  and  King  Rain-Bow 
Was  Sa-Wa- Wicket,  sage  and  wise, 

And  old  Ne-Va-Va  was  White  Snow. 


*  9,442  feet  above  the  sea. 

f  Colorado  is  derived  from  the  color  of  the  sand  and  clay 
along  the  river  of  that  name,  and  signifies  red  earth. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 

The  melody  in  many  a  name, 

That  his  Ute  race  used  oft  repeat, 
Seemed  echoing  forth  some  ancient  fame 

Of  King  or  Sachem's  power  complete; 
And  whilom  voices  everywhere 

Seemed  sounding  like  a  soughing  sea, 
And  filling  all  the  while  the  air 

With  annals  of  old  ancestry. 
The  notes,  which  Nature  near  him  whiled, 

Moved  constantly  King  Colorow's  mind: 
Whether  she  frowned  or  wept  or  smiled, 

His  soul  seemed  wistful  as  the  wind; 
And  every  name  of  man,  or  brute, 

Or  plant,  or  tree,  or  peak,  or  brook, 
Was  yet  a  missile  to  the  Ute 

Which  nature  runed  like  some  rhyme-book. 
Thus  Unca-pa-gre,  the  Hot  Spring, 

Put  name  to  Uncompahgre  parks, 
And  lured  his  legends  there  to  sing, 

With  music  like  the  meadow  lark's, 
And  Tomit,  mountain,  che  for  stream, 

Made  music  like  the  mountain  brooks, 
When  bright  Tomichi's  bounding  beam 

Danced  like  red  damsels  down  the  rocks, 
Till  Co-che-topa  (valley  river) 

Stole  down  its  way  o'er  the  dark  stones, 
And,  like  quilled  arrows  from  a  quiver, 

Sent  touching  whispers  in  its  tones; 
And  Una  wippas  of  the  west, 

Like  Alequipas  of  the  lakes, 
Yet  on  the  vellow  rocks  there  rest, 

And  glide  along  like  glistening  snakes, 
Then  flow  away  like  thin  snow  flakes.  * 


*  Those  who  have  seen  mountain  cascades  pass  from  a  ser- 
pentine stream  into  a  frost-like  mist  can  see  nothing  incredible 
in  this  description. 


YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  over  all  there  ever  hung 

One  legend,  that  would  always  live, 
Of  tragic  deeds  told  old  and  young, 

And  which  the  guiding  Utes  still  give  ; 
For  Colorado's  great-grandsire 

Lost  his  own  life  in  Upper  Lake, 
In  such  a  way  Utes  so  admire, 

They  hence  of  him  their  hero  make: 

A  hostile  tribe,  they  say,  came  near 

Where  this  high  sachem  held  his  tent, 
In  care  twin  daughters,  kind  and  dear, 

While  he  with  braves  a  hunting  went ; 
And  in  his  absence  came  the  foes 

And  captive  took  the  two  young  Queens, 
And  led  them— so  the  legend  goes — 

To  Upper  Lake's  most  lovely  scenes. 
The  noble  King,  brave  Kaput  named, 

Returning,  traced  in  wrath  their  trail, 
And  with  fierce  ire  was  so  inflamed 

He  would  at  once  their  camp  assail. 
With  bow  and  lance  he  beat  the  knaves, 

And  drove  them  down  into  the  lake, 
But  with  them  sank  to  watery  graves, 

Nor  left  a  soul  report  to  make ! 
And  so,  these  lakes  have  ever  since 

Been  like  two  large  and  beauteous  tears 
O'er  those  two  virgins,  to  evince 

How  Nature  yet  mourns  their  lost  years. 
The  legend  adds  :  "  Hence  Upper  Lake 

Amazed  and  awed  the  Indian  mind, 
And  moved  King  Colorow  to  make 

His  campfire  near  in  hope  to  find 

Those  maidens  speaking  to  his  mind  ; 

The  King  of  Spirits  speaking  kind, 

The  world  of  spirits  in  the  wind !" 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  5 

King  Colorado  (called  Colorow) 

Named  Konkaput*  his  new  born  son, 
Because  the  boy  was  bound  to  grow 

A  most  mysterious,  mighty  one, 
Who  would  be  wise  and  wander  far; 

Whose  powers,  oppressed,  should  win  by  peace, 
More  trophies  than  triumphant  war — 

A  sure  success  that  ne'er  shall  cease. 
He  took  the  prince  with  solemn  pride 

To  see  his  chiefs  subordinate; 
And  as  they  set  out,  side  by  side, 

Informed  his  squaw  some  unique  fate 
Would  yet  befall  him,  like  his  name;  * 

That  the  Great  Spirit  often  spake 
Of  future  most  mysterious  fame 

To  rise  from  life  along  this  lake. 
So  by  his  wigwam  we  may  see 

A  pappoose  case,  of  perfect  kind, 
Stand  facing  long  the  storied  lea; 

And  to  the  lee-ward  of  the  wind 
A  hammock,  too's,  hung  near  with  skill, 

And  filled  with  down  in  otter-fur, 
So  soft  a  pappoose  there  keeps  still — 

So  still  his  eyes  alone  can  stir — 
While  soft  winds  rock  him  as  they  will. 


Konkaput,  the  close  locked  casket. 


YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    II. 

THE   QUEEN   PIESSE   PROUD   OF   PAPPOOSE. 

Those  comforts  were  for  Koukaput, 

Our  hero  into  history  born ; 
His  eyes,  when  not  in  slumber  shut, 

Oft  sparkled  there  like  dew  at  morn, 
And  moved  his  Indian  mother's  smile 

As  she'd  catch  up  her  constant  cares, 
And  with  good  cheer  her  child  beguile — 

Nor  could  she  rest  in  rocking  chairs! 
This  mothers'  pious  name,  Piesse, 

Was  quite  appropriate  for  the  Queen; 
Her  dutious  soul,  with  tenderness, 

Wore  nature's  mold,  with  nothing  mean: 
She  bore  herself  with  benign  air, 

With  all  the  royal  will  required; 
Her  features,  too,  were  fit  and  fair — 

Of  all  the  Utes,  were  most  admired. 
Her  father  fancied  her  foretold 

As  mother  of  a  mighty  chief, 
Who  should  become  a  sachem  bold, 

And  send  his  race  unknown  relief. 
She,  too,  seemed  sharing  prophesy, 

And  from  a  child  was  cherishing 
The  hope  her  son,  a  sovereign  high, 

Would  save  the  Utes  from  perishing. 
"She  saw  he  was  a  proper  child;" 

Foresaw  his  future  full  of  fame, 
And  set  to  music  soft  and  wild 

Bach  hopeful  mention  of  his  name. 
Her  song  seemed" sung  by  birds  and  bees; 

'Twas  varied,  yet  a  buzzing  sound, 
And,  like  the  breeze  among  the  trees, 

She  rhymed  at  ease  its  endless  round, 

With  pious  love  and  peace  profound. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN 

Hear  Piesse  sing  : 

"In  his  swing,  Konkaput  is  King." 
Konkaput,  my  pappoose  kingly, 

Little  hearts-ease,  lay  thee  here, 
While  beneath  the  boughs  I  swing  thee 

In  the  skin  of  speckled  deer. 
Like  the  pouch  of  young  opossums, 

Sleeping  sweetly  as  they  swing, 
Lullaby  'mid  birds  and  blossoms, 

While  I  sing  :  Konkaput  is  King  ! 
Lo  !  ye  mocking  birds,  attention  ! 

Hear  the  words  of  hope  I  sing, 
And  then  make  repeated  mention  : 

"In  his  swing,  Konkaput  is  King  !" 
Let  the  branch  with  robin  red-breast, 

Let  the  lark  on  lofty  wing, 
And  the  oriole  near  her  thread  nest, 

Swing  and  sing  :  Konkaput  is  King  f. 
Let  magnolias  like  the  mandrakes, 

That  in  air  their  odors  fling, 
And  tall  forests  o'er  the  fern-brakes 

Wave  and  sing  :  Konkaput  is  King ! 
Hear  the  pine  trees  and  the  pumas, 

And  the  prey  on  which  they  spring, 
And  the  distant  Montezumas, 

All  proclaim  :  Koukaput  is  King  ! 
Hear  all  white  men  and  all  red  men, 

Everywhere  and  everything, 
Join  all  live  men  and  all  dead  men 

To  declare  :  Konkaput  is  King  ! 
Manitou  !  Great  Spirit,  grant  me 

Blessings  more  than  man  can  bring !.. 
May  no  princess  e'er  supplant  me  ; 

Make  my  Konkaput  a  King  ! 

Areouski,|  make  him  King  ! ! 
"In  his  swing,  Konkaput  is  King  !" 
f  The  Indian  God  of  Wars,  like  Ares,  Mars. 


YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF  UTES. 
SCENES    III. 

THE   PAPPOOSE   AND   HIS   RULING   PASSION. 

The  scenes  around  that  simple  tent 

Were  beautiful,  sublime  and  grand  ! 
For  every  way  the  wanderers  went 

Doth  Nature  stand  on  either  hand, 
With  mountain  cliffs  or  meadow  lawn, 

Or  crystal  lake,  or  snowy  peaks  ; 
And  every  day  from  early  dawn 

Some  special  voice,  all  viewless,  speaks, 
And  wakes  the  ear  to  wondering  awe  ; 

Here  Konkaput,  in  time  and  place, 
First  woke  to  consciousness,  and  saw 

The  beauty  found  in  Nature's  face. 

The  first  he  recollects  of  sight 

Was  Indian  horsemen  hunting  deer 
Until  the  herd,  in  hurrying  fright, 
Came  closely  by  and  halted  near. 
When  gazing  thus  at  these  gazelles, 

A  fawn  fell  lifeless  at  his  feet ; 
And  hence  at  once  his  bosom  swells 

With  passion  like  scenes  to  repeat. 
As  Nimrod  and  as  Hagar's  son, 

His  flesh  and  bones  burned  with  the  flame 
Of  such  excitement — to  see  run, 

And  stop,  and  fall — the  staggering 

game  ! 
'A  mighty  hunter  "  he  must  be  ; 

With  bow  and  arrows  urge  the  chase, 
Where  deer  and  panthers  roam  and  flee 

Before  the  chargers  of  his  race  ; 
The  bison,  beaver  and  the  bear 

He'll  hunt,  and  fell  them  at  his  feet, 
Their  skins  to  dress,  their  furs  to  wear, 
Their  flesh  to  "jerk"  or  broil,  and  eat. 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES. 

Here,  too,  his  mother  used  to  make 

The  suckling  fawns  to  savory  meat, 
And  with  her  pappoose  oft  partake 

Of  fish  and  fowl,  once  fair  and  fleet ; 
So,  brought  him  closer  to  the  breast 

Of  Nature,  to  drink  in  her  breath, 
And  on  her  heaving  bosom  rest, 

And  draw  in  life  from  love  and  death. 
The  filial  feeling  thence  awoke, 

While  Konkaput  first  crept  and  stood 
Around  the  small  camp-fire's  smoke, 

And  gave  him  hope  of  highest  good, 
In  trophies  of  that  truant  life, 

Where  sires  roam  wild  through  wooded  scenes, 
To  fetch  home  game  to  hut  and  wife, 

And  feast  thereon  like  Kings  and  Queens. 
No  wonder,  then,  if  he  run  wild, 

Nor  wish  for  wisdom  in  his  ways, 
To  change  the  impulse  of  the  child 

And  the  direction  of  his  days  ; 
He's  born  and  bred  an  Ishmael, 

An  Indian  is  his  being's  end — 
An  angel  Indian  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

If  the  All-father  will  befriend  ! 
Even  savage  nature  has  a  heart 

That  beats  responsive  to  the  right, 
When  the  far  future  feels  its  start 

In  sense  of  unseen  sovereign  sight 
Of  some  One  over  all  supreme. 

Though  aims  of  living  are  its  end, 
When  the  bright  heavens  above  us  beam, 

Lives  need  not  end  where  now  they  tend — 
So  Konkaput  Heaven  calls  her  friend  ! 


10          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE  KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    IV. 

HE   PANTS   FOR   A   PARD   HUNTER'S   FAME. 

We  saw  the  sire  and  the  home-scene, 

And  paused  to  hear  the  proud  Piesse 
Sing  what  a  mother's  instincts  mean, 

In  tones  of  princely  tenderness, 
Along  the  legendary  lakes, 

Where  our  young  hero  had  his  birth, 
And  where  his  passion  still  partakes 

Of  pulsate  Nature — Heaven  and  Earth. 
The  highland  lad  here,  loving,  lives; 

He  sees  his  likeness  in  the  lakes, 
Where  every  cloud  its  color  gives 

And  mountain  peak  its  pattern  makes; 
He  sings  and  jumps  sometimes  for  joy 

To  see  a  water  nymph  so  near, 
So  near  his  build,  a  half-nude  boy, 

Formed,  like  himself,  without  a  fear! 
He  casts  in  pebbles  from  the  shore 

To  see  the  circling  waves  expand, 
As  coming  life  feels  long  before 

The  impulse  that  pours  o'er  the  land. 
He  plows  his  feather  plumed  canoe 

Across  the  water's  ruffled  face, 
And  tries  most  artful  tricks  and  true, 

Obeying  instincts  of  his  race. 
He  triumphed,  too,  in  all  he  tried, 

Till  muskrats,  mephits,*  minks  and  mice, 
Hares,  foxes,  birds  and  fishes  died, 

By  means  of  his  unmatched  device. 
And  each  achievement  of  this  kind 

Did  fuel  add  to  fond  desire, 
To  capture  even  the  human  mind, 

And  make  men  dread  him,  or  admire! 


*  Mephitis  Americana,  the  "Chicago"  or  skunk  which  the 
Indians  admire  and  catch  without  awaking  its  offensive  odor. 
See  also  fitchit  or  the  European  polecat,  whence  the  fitch-furs. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 

Like  him  who  once  in  Hebron  slept, 

And  dreamed  of  bending  sheaves  and  stars,, 
As  Morpheus  o'er  his  members  crept ; 

So  he  dreams  oft  of  hunts  and  wars, 
While  wildwood  sirens,  waiting,  sing 

Of  laurels  wreathed,  all  round  the  land, 
'For  Konkaput,  the  coming  King, 

Born  both  to  counsel  and  command  !" 
By  day  he  drifts,  by  night  he  dreams, 

His  mind  glides  on  like  morning's  glow  ;. 
Before  him  some  bright  future  seems— 

It  seems  so  bright  it's  surely  so  ! 
His  father,  Colorado,  tells 

Him,  too,  the  tales  of  other  times, 
Until  his  young  heart  heaves  and  swells, 

And  beats  almost  like  belfry  chimes. 
One  day  at  eve,  by  the  tent  door, 

He  stood  attuned  to  storied  deeds, 
Such  as  were  told  him  times  before, 

When  lo,  Colorow  came  from  the  reeds 
And  rushed  to  view,  as  Indians  run, 

And  gladly  down  the  slopes  did  glide 
With  squirrels  for  his  squaw  and  son, 

And  wearing  a  young  lion's  hide  ! 
This  startling  garb  seemed  still  st>  good, 

Hung  both  before  him  and  behind^ 
That  Konkaput  quite  captive  stood 

To  mighty  motives  in  his  mind, 
And  praised  his  site's  so- proud  success,. 

Whose  costume  so  became  a  King, 
In  princely  words  we  here  express, 

That  all  may  catch  their  echoing, 

And  join  the  very  trees  to  sing. 


12          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

The  Son's  fond  Song  to  his  faithful  Sire, 
Till  echo  sets  the  scene  afire — 
Piesse's  soul  did  it  inspire  : 

^'O  trusted  father,  fond  and  true, 

Choicest  of  Utes,  their  chosen  Chief ; 

The  noblest  man  earth  ever  knew, 
Whose  boldness  is  beyond  belief, 

Thy  son  doth  sing,  thy  deeds  as  King, 
Till  in  thy  praise  these  mountains  ring, 
And  o'er  the  Lakes  are  echoing. 

I  hail  thee,  Chief  of  all  the  Utes! 

Whose  feathered  arrow  never  fails 
To  bring  at  will  the  wildest  brutes, 

And  tassels  well  our  tent  with  tails  ! 
Thy  son  will  sing,  thy  ways  as  King, 

Till  in  thy  praise  the  mountains  ring 

And  hills  to  hills  are  echoing. 

Hail !  wildest  hero  of  the  wood  ! 

Hail !  gladdest  hunter  of  the  glen; 
Whose  bow  doth  find  back-loads  of  food, 

Whose  mind  outwits  wild  beasts  and  men  ! 
Thy  son  still  sings,  thy  race  of  Kings  ; 

With  sounding  praise  the  welkin  rings, 

And  all  around  are  echoings ! 

Hail !  hail !  all  hail !  my  high-born  sire ! 
Praise,  louder  than  the  lion's  pride, 

These  fearless  scenes  have  set  on  fire 

With  song,  to  march  the  mountain  side, 

And  always  sing,  their  warrior  King, 
Till  even  the  rocks  around  me  ring, 
And  with  my  words,  on  wandering  wing, 
Shall  age  on  age  come  echoing ! 

Hio  !    Hio  !— Echo  !— Echo  ! 
Hio!— Echo!    Hio '.—Echo  !" 


A   LEGEND  OF  TWIN   LAKES.  IS 

Thus  Konkaput  felt  kindling  fires  ; 

The  cravings  for  the  furrier's  craft, 
The  peltry  dealer's  pent  desires, 

Till  loud  with  chuckling  cheer  he  laughed, 
And  paced  along  his  parent's  path, 

First  on  the  left,  and  then  the  right, 
Till  he  sees  all  his  fond  sire  hath, 

Then  says  in  praise  :  "O  pretty  sight !" 
He  takes  the  squirrel's  tasseled  tails, 

And  waves  them  round  in  every  way  ; 
Their  fur,  like  fancy,  never  fails 

To  gratify — red,  black  and  gray — 
With  its  variety  and  warmth  of  view — 

What  princes  everywhere  must  prize — 
And  specially  it's  always  new 

In  this  young  Utes  admiring  eyes  ! 
He  put  the  skins  of  the  two  pards 

Then  round  his  person,  and  with  pride 
Marched  down  the  mesa  many  yards — 

Much  like  the  ass  in  lion's  hide — 
And  frightened  beasts  and  birds  away  ; 

Then  turned  around  upon  his  heel, 
And  prancing  back,  both  proud  and  gay,. 

Thus  to  his  parent  made  appeal : 

"When  next  you  go  for  such  nice  game, 

O  take  your  Konkaput  along  ! 
I  pant  for  a  pard  hunter's  fame, 

And  feel  brim-full  of  fire  and  song ! 

Again,  hio  !  a  hunting  go  ! 
And  when  you  go,  take  me  along  ! 
O  yes,  hio  !  a  hunting  go  : 
I'll  string  anew  my  stoutest  bow, 
And  stride  a  hunter,  hale  and  strong  ! 
Echo  !   Hio  !   Echo  !   Hio  ! 


14          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    V. 

WILD   HORSEMEN   CHALLENGE    TO  THE  CHASE   AWAY. 

Just  here — the  game  given  to  the  squaw, 

The  weary  Chief  wiping  his  face — 
A  score  of  huntsmen  hither  draw, 

To  challenge  for  the  yearly  chase. 
They  're  warriors  real,  with  weapons  rude, 

With  plumage  plucked  wild  in  some  place 
Of  nature's  noblest  solitude, 

And  groomed  on  steeds  with  startling  grace. 


As  they  came  round  the  sandy  coast, 

Advancing  fast  in  Indian  file, 
The  Lake  reflected  the  fleet  host, 

And  looked  like  an  inverted  isle. 
These  cavaliers  had  hither  come, 

With  bows  and  spears  both  sharp  and  strong, 
To  hail  their  Chief,  to  cheer  his  home, 

And  sing  to  him  their  hunter  song : 

(O  hear  them  call  to  hunting  all !) 

Come  !    To  the  prairies  let  us  go, 
And  hunt  the  herded  buffalo  : 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.          15 

Come,  come  !  to  the  plains  where  the  rivers  flow, 
Where  bisons  range  and  the  grasses  grow  ; 

The  full  moon  shines,  the  skies  are  clear, 

We"ll  kill  wild  bulls  all  unawares, 
And  gather  robes  for  many  a  year, 

And  take  ourselves  true,  honest  shares. 
O,  come!  to  the  prairies  we  will  go 
And  hunt  the  wolf  and  the  buffalo. 

Come,  come  !  Come,  come  !  now  let  us  go 
For  the  buffalo,  on  the  plains  below  ; 

While  moons  are  bright  the  livelong  night, 

We'll  dress  like  bison,  wolf  or  bear  ; 
We'll  seem  their  friends,  even  in  their  fright, 

And  kill  our  Sheik  a  kingly  share. 
O,  come,  to  the  prairies  let  us  go 
For  coyote,  wolf  and  buffalo  ! 

Come,  come  !  O,  come  !  Come,  come  !  Now,  come, 
To  the  plains  afar,  to  the  plains  below. 

Our  squaws  we'll  charge  with  all  good  cheer 
Pappooses  all  to  keep  with  care, 

While  we  gather  goods  for  many  a  year, 

And  give  our  Sheik  the  lion's  share. 
O,  come,  to  the  plains,  afar,  below, 
For  the  antelope  and  buffalo  ! 
Come,  come  !  to  the  prairies  we  will  go  ! 
Hoop,  hoop,  hallo  !  Hoop,  hoop,  hallo  ! 

A  hunting  to  the  prairies  go  ! 


16          YOUNG    KONKAPUT,  THE    KINti    OK   UTES. 

SCENES    VI. 

nil-  :\iorNT\iN   KORKST  MKI.TS  TO  KIKK. 
The  squaw,  Piesse,  those  squirrels  dressed 

Meantime,  and  cooks  them  on  the  coals;. 
While  her  rude  chief,  stretched  out  for  rest 

Upon  a  pile  of  skins  and  poles, 
Reports  his  day's  adventures  all — 

How  he  had  found  a  lion's*  lair 
Beneath  torn  rocks,  both  rough  and  tall, 

And  saw  two  young  ones  sleeping  there  ; 
That  then  with  flint  he  struck  a  flame 

That  set  the  bushes  in  a  blaze  ; 
For  if  the  old  dam  hither  came 

He  could  her  instincts  thus  amaze, 
And  then  her  young  cubs  catch  and  kill 

And  bear  their  beauteous  hides  as  prey. 
Here  stops  the  tale — all  start  to  fill 

Their  mouths  with  squirrel,  black  and  greyr 

In  a  most  rudimental  way. 

At  just  this  moment  rose  the  moon 

As  red  as  scarlet  on  the  height, 
The  air  grew  hot,  as  if  high  noon, 

And  crystal  peaks  wore  crimson  light ; 
The  woods  all  blossomed  into  blood, 

The  evening  melted  into  ire, 
The  loftiest  tree  tops  lurid  stood, 

The  forest  roared  with  wind  and  fire! 
The  wild  fowl  flew  before  the  wind, 

The  frantic  eagles  screamed  with  fright, 
The  foxes  hied  new  holes  to  find — 

The  flames  exposing  all  their  flight — 
The  young  coyotes  came  out  in  pairs, 

And  many  bruins,  moved  by  fears, 
Came  forth  and  sat,  as  if  at  prayers, 
And  wiped  their  face  from  smoke  and  tears. 


*  The  puma  or  panther  is  sometimes  called  the  North  Ameri- 
can lion. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  17 

The  wolves  and  lions  howling  stood, 

And  eyed  the  glow  with  angry  glare  ; 
Bewildered  elk  leaped  from  the  wood, 

Then  snuffed  the  air  in  mad  despair  ; 
While  Indian  ponies  pawed  and  neighed, 

As  if  bound  to  a  burning  stall ; 
Even  their  fierce  riders  are  afraid — 

The  scene  is  consternation  all  ! 
Still  Colorado,  cool,  commands 

To  seek  tepees  tormented  so, 
And  bring  together  all  their  bands, 

To  parks  below,  in  haste  to  go. 
Two  tethered  bronchos  then  are  brought, 

For  both  the  Chief  and  squaw  to  ride, 
And  Konkaput,  as  quick  as  thought, 

Is  also  mounted  at  their  side  ; 
And  off  they  ride — all  hands  astride — 
Pell-mell,  up,  down  the  mountain  side. 

(Nota  Bene!)* 

[  The  wanton  wild  man  of  the  wood, 
Whose  instincts  never  understood 

The  use  of  timber  or  of  trees, 
Would  sooner  smelt  the  woods  to  smoke, 
Than  use  his  strength  in  one  wise  stroke 

To  save  the  trees  to  serve  and  please. 
Indeed,  an  Indian  Chu-f  one  day, 
Fired  all  a  farmer's  fields  of  hay 

Because  his  wagons  frightened  game  ; 
And  several  times  the  seedling  grain, 
That  lay  like  gold  plate  o'er  the  plain, 

lias  caught  the  same  clandestine  flame.] 


*  'Twould  add  to  Twin  Lakes  a  double  charm  to  have  the 
primeval  forests  b;u-k  attain,  \\  hidi  have  been  destroyed  by  such 
Indian  fires,  though  the  woods  there  were  never  such,  perhaps, 

•is  the  imagination  here  lias  made 


18          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    VII. 

THE   PORTRAITS   OF   THE   PARKS. 

King  Colorado  called  his  own 

Olympian  Heights,  and  all  between, 
In  which  some  seven  parks  are  known, 

Broad,  beautiful  in  breadth  and  scene. 
These — North  and  Middle,  South  and  Bast — 

Ivike  chains  of  lakes,  lie  stretched  along 
Where  ancient  oceans  foamed  their  yeast, 

And  white-plumed  sea-gulls  piped  their  song. 
Here,  down  from  Rocky  Mountain  heights 

Roll  rivulets  and  rivers  grand, 
Till  old  sea-beds  are  changed  to  sights 

Of  life  and  beauty  on  the  land. 
These  valleys  all,  diversified 

With  light  and  shadow,  shape  and  life, 
Are  Colorado's  Kingly  pride, 

And  every  rood  worth  regal  strife. 
First,  Park  Bgeria  peaceful  lies — 

Tvvin  sister  to  North  Park,  it  seems — 
And  weds  together  earth  and  skies, 

And  with  untiring  wonders  teems. 
Here  Tombeuarrow  towers  high, 

And  stands  still  pointing  to  the  stars  ; 
While  old  Tymponus,  sleeping  nigh, 

Looks  like  a  lion  lined  with  scars. 
And  where  he  lies — a  lazy  sphynx — 

Are  hooting  owls  and  haunting  elves, 
And  many  an  Indian  maiden  minx, 

Whose  echoes  answer  to  themselves. 
Here  Yampa  River  has  its  source, 

Where  bears  and  beavers  both  retreat ; 
And  the  Gore  Range  rears  grand  its  course, 

With  flowery  summers  at  its  feet. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  19 

Then  North  Platteau  next  names  the  Platte, 

Where  augiles  rise  like  rabbits'  ears, 
And  antelopes,  both  large  and  fat, 

Fly  back  and  forth  on  wings  of  fears  ; 
There,  wind  and  weather  work  together 

To  carve  grand  forms  with  grotesque  grace — 
Birds  of  a  feather  there  flock  together, 

And  facts  and  fancies  fill  the  place. 
Three  kingdoms  are  in  contact  here 

To  bring  to  view  abounding  wealth, 
And  yearn  for  some  forthcoming  year 

To  start  them  out  as  if  by  stealth. 
For  mines  there  hid  in  mountain's  side, 

And  grass  and'  meat  grown  at  their  feet 
Shall  prove  North  Park's  exhaustless  pride, 

In  each  of  which  the  parks  compete. 
In  Middle  Park  Grand  River  springs 

From  where  the  sweet  Still  Water  flows  ; 
The  loon  sits  on  the  lake  and  sings, 

\Vhile  summits  watch,  enrobed  in  snows  ; 
And  heated  sulphurets  lie  hid, 

Whence  healing  fountains  from  below 
Rise  up  to  bless — when  man  shall  bid — 

And  all  their  healing  virtues  show. 
Three  thousand  miles  of  mingling  view 

Outspread  before  the  spirit's  eye, 
At  every  step  with  something  new 

Makes  this  vast  meadow  lifted  high — 
Eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea — 

A  world  of  wealth  and  wonders  wild 
Appear,  and  beam  with  what  will  be 

When  he  is  old  who's  now  a  child. 


20    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Next  east  of  this,  sweet  E>tes  Park, 

As  peaceful  as  a  pious  toul, 
When  lighted  by  some  heavenly  spark 

That  doth  from  dazzling  fixed  stars  roll, 
Is  beautiful  beyond  compare, 

With  winter  heights  and  wooded  haunts, 
And  intervales  intensely  fair, 

And  rocks  and  rivers  plumed  with  plants. 
One  Park  of.  Monuments  appears — 

The  work  and  wear  of  viewless  air 
That  pulsates  past  like  yearning  years, 

And  leaves  its  lasting  footsteps  there  ; 
And  one,  San  Luis — lofty  one — 

So  warm  and  wide,  so  watered  well  ; 
Its  Blanc  Sierras  ki?s  the  sun, 

And  the  Lite  Kings  theie  love  to  dwell. 


Another,  nearer  the  Twin  Lakes, 

A  land  of  hope  for  earth  and  Heaven, 
A  broad  and  deep  impression  makes 

If  once  its  outline  be  well  given. 
Fair  Mount  Rosalia  rises  there 

In  all  her  grandeur's  graceful  mien  ; 
And  snow-white  altars  in  the  air 

That  call  to  prayer,  contour  the  scene. 
The  wide  spread  surface  set  within — 

More  than  two  thousand  landscape  miles- 
Hath  wondrous  hues,  the  heart  to  win, 

Like  to  a  thousand  tinted  isles 
Embosomed  half  in  a  blue  haze, 

Which  look  like  homes  in  holy  lands, 
With  here  and  there  sweet  song  of  praise 

To  welcome  back  earth's  homesick  bands. 


A    LEGEND    OF   TWIN    LAKES.  21 

This  park,  nine  thousand  feet  above 

The  surface  of  the  far-off  sea, 
Holds  in  its  landscapes  scenes  of  love, 

Rare  and  romantic  as  may  be. 
Salt  Basin,  this  South  Park  is  called— 

Bayou  Salada  (del  Castile) — 
With  all  its  sides  so  amply  walled, 

Wild  men  well  there  may  welcome  feel. 
There  squads  of  Indians  and  their  squaws, 

With  Konkaput,  their  Chief's  own  son, 
Without  restraint  by  leagues  or  laws, 

Are  free  as  melted  snow  to  run; 
And  as  the  heated  forest  drives 

The  molten  tide  from  mountain  tops, 
They  flee  the  fire,  as  for  their  lives, 

To  the  open  parks,  where  its  power  stops.. 
So  the  hot  hurry  to  this  place, 

And  flurry  in  each  frightened  camp, 
Exchanged  the  "challenge  for  the  chase" 

Into,  the  muffled  tramp!  tramp!  tramp! 
Where  the  half-mounted  motley  herd 

Are  hurled  adown  the  hazy  glen, 
Through  smoke  that  smothers  many  a  bird, 

And  would  have  mastered  other  men. 
But,  "no  great  loss  without  small  gain," 

And  "ill  the  wind  that  blows  no  good! " 
Hence,  while  fire  flakes  fall  down  like  rain, 

And  leave  black  stubs  where  forests  stood. 
The  game  too  goes  to  park  or  plain, 

And  thither  does  good  Colro  go. 
We'll  see  his  tent  soon  tied  again, 

Where  mountain  streams  meandering  flow, 

And  mountain  zephers  mingled  blow. 


22  YOUNG   KONKAPUT,    THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

SCENES    VIII. 

SOCIAL   PASTIMES   IX    SOUTH   PARK. 

Right  soon  we  see  extemporized 

An  Indian  village  in  South  Park: 
In  chasing  bison,  the  most  prized, 

They  are  unable  to  embark, 
For  fortune  in  misfortune  reigns; 

The  fires  have  spoiled  their  outfits  so 
They're  ill  prepared,  on  open  plains, 

To  hunt  the  herded  buffalo. 
But  still,  the  mountain  elk  and  sheep, 

And  bleating  droves  of  black-tail  deer, 
Crowd  to  the  parks  to  graze  and  sleep, 

And  make  this  a  grand  hunting  year. 
Their  venison  all  Indians  prize. 

And  daintier  tastes  do  not  demur, 
Nor  do  the  braves  bear  meat  despise; 

And  bears  and  foxes  both  have  fur. 
So  wigwams  soon  there,  full  and  warm, 

Will  wait  for  winter  in  advance; 
The  park  will  prove  a  well-stocked  farm, 

Misfortune  change  to  fairer  chance; 
And  it's  surprising  once  to  see 

How  soon  rude  people  set  to  rights, 
And  feel  at  home,  happy  and  free, 

For  day's  delights  and  sleep  o'  nights. 
With  merry  thought  the  men  make  thongs 

For  snares;  set  traps  and  pits  and  pens 
For  wild  fowl,  wolves  and  bears;  while  songs 

Are  gliding  up  the  sylvan  glens 
Where  squaws  and  maidens  meet  and  greet, 

And  skin  and  dress  the  skunk*  and  deer, 
Their  rare  old  romances  repeat, 

And  each  the  other  chafe  and  cheer. 

*  This  pretty  (though  offensive)  creature's  spotted  skin  was 
.greatly  prized  by  Utes  for  caps,  small  cushions  and  the  like. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 

They  never  practice  wit  for  praise  ; 

Yet  sometimes  join  in  serious  jest, 
And  dote  on  other  scenes  and  days 

And  blandly  wish  each  other  blessed. 
Though  not  loquacious,  coarse  and  loud, 

Their  wildest  stories  wear  the  stamp 
Of  quiet  humor,  quaint  and  proud, 

Which  calls  much  cheer  into  their  camp. 

King  Colorado  keeps  his  lodge 

Beside  a  rolling  river's  song, 
Where  speckled  trout  both  sport  and  dodge, 

And  breezes  lure  swift  birds  along. 

Here  children  come  and  play  and  romp 

And  rest  above  the  river's  bank, 
While  Konkaput  with  kingly  pomp 

Repeats  the  story  of  his  rank. 
Conscious  of  power  to  command, 

He  here  retails  the  tales  of  old, 
And  tells  his  hopes  that  near  at  hand 

Good  times  will  come  of  peace  untold  ; 
He  utters  dreams  from  ether  drawn, 

Where  the  Great  Spirit  grants  him  views, 
Which  show  a  day  shall  shortly  dawn 

That  white  men  call  God's  spell,  good  news. 
His  language  is  so  full  of  love, 

Yet  laden  with  so  much  of  law, 
He  seems  inspired  from  above  ; 

And  children,  charmed,  around  him  draw, 
Till  all  seem  loving  the  lone  boy 

That  lived  and  loitered  by  the  lakes, 
And  as  they  join  to  share  his  joy, 

Himself  their  niaster  soon  he  makes ! 


24          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE  KING   OF  UT£S. 

Among  the  boys,  plumed  for  his  play, 

And  full  of  promise  and  of  praise, 
Is  one  called  Arrow  (King  Array), 

Who  will  win  laurels  many  ways. 
And  Arrow's  sister,  by  his  side, 

The  fair  Shawsheen,  here  first  we  find — 
Her  kingly  brother's  queenly  pride — 

And  made  like  him  in  look  and  mind. 

These  three  become  so  much  attached, 
And  mingle  arts  with  so  much  ease, 

The  trio  are  so  truly  matched, 

Their  pleasures  each  beholder  please. 

As  ardent  friends  they  often  met 
For  sports  in  a  secluded  spot, 

With  feelings  they  could  ne'er  forget, 
And  give  us  scenes  not  soon  forgot. 

To  suit  such  choice  and  charming  scenes- 
King  Konkaput — they  call  him  king, 

Though  he  was  yet  scarce  in  his  teens — 
Used  to  his  guests  rich  offerings  bring  ; 

While  they,  responsive  to  this  rare 
Provision,  came  and  all  compete, 

Till,  as  if  stowed  by  squirrel's*  care, 

Bach  niche  is  filled  with  nuts  and  meat. 

This  spot  secluded,  which  we  speak, 

Is  worthy  of  a  willing  space  ; 
'Twas  by  a  limpid,  laughing  creek 

That  trembling  held  each  truant  face 
Which  o'er  it  bent  with  beaming  eyes, 

And  watched  therein  the  passing  waves 
That  shook,  or  seemed  to  shake,  the  skies, 

And  guide  the  stars  to  silent  graves. 


*  The  American  squirrel  gathers  excessive  winter  supplies 
and  stows  them  away  rti  their  hollow  tree  homes  with  astound- 
ing skill  and  care. 


A  IvEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  25 

Its  water  was  both  warm  and  cold, 

From  a  hot  spring  and  highland  snow, 
And  gaily  sang  o'er  sands  of  gold 

Which  were  laid  bare  in  beds  below  ; 
And,  Minne-ha-ha-like,  its  voice 

Seemed  always  singing  in  their  ears 
A  merry  laugh,  which  said  :  "Rejoice  !" 

And  dew-like,  cheers,  even  with  its  tears. 
This  branching  creek,  or  babbling  brook, 

Was  but  a  narrow  space  above 
The  royal  lodge  ;  yet  none  could  look 

Into  that  "little  lower  of  love" 
But  by  a  walk  of  willow  trees, 

Which  swayed  at  ease,  as  nests  are  swung 
Of  oriole,  touched  by  the  breeze 

That  rocks  to  rest  her  twittering  young. 
Quite  near  this  nook  another  brook — 

A  sighing  branch  of  the  same  tree, 
As  rivers  and  their  tributes  look — 

Made  melancholy  melody. 
'Twas  just  above  the  intervale, 

Where  weeping  willows  used  to  wave,. 
And  sad  winds  swept  with  solemn  wail, 

As  if  beside  some  new-built  grave. 
Indeed,  a  Chief  had  fallen  there 

From  chos'n  ill-fortune  in  the  chase  ;. 
He  here  pursued  too  near  a  bear, 

Which  halted  for  a  little  space, 
Then  on  pursuer  turned  with  power, 

To  fold  the  brave  in  firm  embrace, 
And  there  did  half  his  flesh  devour  : 

Hence  "Weeping- Water"  is  this  place. 
Here  unseen  echoes  sing,  "Cuckoo," 

Like  tones  along  Lake  Titikaka, 
Till  Weeping  Waters — Minne-Bo-ho — 
Meet  Laughing  Waters — Minne-Ha-ha  ; 


26    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Then  Singing  Daughters  of  the  Sun 

Come  down  and  close  in  dance  the  day 
With  modest  Maidens  of  the  Moon, 

Just  bending  round  her  borrowed  ray. 
There  twilight  glides  in  twain-lit  glances 

As  slowly  come  kind  hours  for  sleep, 
And  Indian  damsels  mingle  dances, 

Where  weeded  sorrows  sat  to  weep  ; 


There  on  the  mead  in  moonlight  hours 

Young  chiefs  and  squaws  exchange  their  loves, 
With  bunches  of  wild  fruits  and  flowers, 

"And  bill  and  coo,  like  courting  doves." 
Though  these  are  quite  forgotten  now, 

They  named  these  spots  Nevava  Spring  ; 
The  bend  below  was  the  "Rain-Bow," 

Both  worthy  of  remembering  ; 
For  native  parks  had  ne'er  a  place 

More  pleasing  to  the  passer  by, 
Nor  running  waters  ever  trace 

An  iris  sweeter  to  the  eye, 

Or  purl  a  purer  symphony. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  '27 

SCENES    IX. 

KONKAPUT   KILLS   AN    ELK,    AND   IS    CROWNED    KING 
BY  ARROW'S   SISTER,    QUEEN    SHAWSHEEN. 

In  that  stand-point  one  still  may  see 

Bayou  Salada,  the  South  Park, 
In  all  its  vast  diversity 

Of  form  and  outline,  and  remark 
The  Salty  Basin  where  the  deer 

All  like  to  graze  and  lick  the  ground, 
And  drink  their  fill  without  a  fear 

Of  either  death  or  danger  round. 

About  this  deer-lick,  at  noonday, 

The  antlered  stags  all  stand  at  ease, 
And  wait,  as  if  the  willing  prey 

Of  ambushed  Indians  on  their  knees, 
With  arrows  aimed  and  bows  all  bent; 

And  often,  too,  from  neighboring  trees, 
Full  rounds  of  such  artillery  sent, 

Pierce  just  the  hearts  the  archers  please. 
The  sight  is  grand,  when  boys — half  grown 

Young  chiefs — thence  dauntless  chase  the  deer 
Among  the  cliffs,  till  all  alone, 

With  antlers  lifted  high  and  clear, 
Some  tall  buck  stops  upon  his  throne, 

Confronts  his  foe,  yet  stamps  with  fear, 
Falls  to  the  ground  without  a  groan, 

And  makes  the  mountains  ring  with  cheer. 

'Twas  thus  one  day  that  Konkaput, 

With  bow  of  oak  and  arrows,  led 
The  chase  for  elk  above  the  hut 

Of  Arrow's  sire,  who  saw  the  red 
Blood  in  full  bloom  upon  the  bluff, 

And  sent  his  young  squaw  to  inquire 
If  for  his  elk  he'd  help  enough, 

Or  her  assistance  he'd  desire. 


28          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF 

It  was  the  custom,  in  such  case, 

For  squaws  to  come  upon  the  scene 
And  help  bear  trophies  of  the  chase 

Down  to  be  dressed  upon  the  green; 
While  they  extol  the  virtues  all 

Of  the  young  brave,  whose  black  locks  wave, 
And  o'er  him  fall  like  funeral  pall, 

As  he  stands  stern,  demure  and  grave. 
So,  Konkaput  in  silence  stood, 

Where  the  large  elk  expiring  lay, 
When  Shawsheen  came,  with  weapons  good, 

To  help  him  bear  his  beast  away. 
But  ere  she  spoke  she  broke  the  spell 

That  bound  him  to  the  bleeding  spot, 
For  long  ere  this  he  loved  her  well 

Who  thus  had  hied  to  share  his  lot. 


Her  form  and  face  are  more  than  fair, 

Her  forehead  bears  a  feathered  band 
Which  she  has  bound  with  her  black  hair, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  29 

With  loving  heart  and  well  learned  hand, 
A  wampum  wreath,  apportioned  well 

With  beads,  and  quills  from  a  red  wing — 
She  tossed  this  las-o,  and  it  fell 

On  Konkaput,  and  crowned  him  King. 
Then  several  mighty,  supple  men 

Find  the  iresh  game  and  fetch  his  frame, 
Still  warm  and  glaring,  down  the  glen, 

Singing  the  name  now  wreathed  with  fame  ; 
While  from  the  heights,  with  frantic  joys, 

Come  winding  down  upon  their  way, 
The  shouts  of  bou  iding  Indian  boys, 

Whom  the  bi  ave  elk  had  kept  at  bay. 
The  giant  moose  all  join  to  dress, 

In  honor  of  the  proud  young  prince  ; 
The  pale  red  flesh  all  round  confess 

"The  best  they  've  seen,  before  or  since." 
The  horns  stretch  out  from  hand  to  hand  . 

Of  So-Bo-Tah— or  Chief  Big  Track— 
And  like  a  towering  oak  tree  stand 

When  poised  on  Pa- Ant — Tall  Man's — back. 
And  as  he  prances  round  with  pride, 

And  pushes  Pe-Ah— Black  Tail  Deer— 
Who  goes  all  fours,  with  horns  and  hide, 

The  welkin  rings  again  with  cheer. 
Then,  with  instinctive  zest  and  zeal, 

They  all  awake  to  antics  wild, 
Just  as  their  fancies  chance  to  feel — 

From  the  old  Chief  to  youngest  child. 
Then  Su-Pi-Ah,  old  Lodge-Pole's  son, 

Points  out  to  Arrow,  or  Array, 
Chief  Chu-A-Wich,  who  starts  to  run — 

(His  name  means  Long  Tail  Deer,  they  say) — 
An  arrow  flies,  that,  by  mistake, 

Hits  Sob-Au-Ich-I— Wounded  Breast- 
Then  all  around  an  arrow  break, 

And  sing  this  closing  song  with  zest : 


YOUNG    KONKAPUT,   THE)   KING    OF   UT1JS. 

Hear  them  sing, 

As  o'er  the  scene  their  voices  ring  : 
Shawsheen  is  Queen  !    Konkaput  King  t 

Konkaput  King ! 

"This  is  the  Chief  who  brought  to  grief 

The  wildest  warrior  of  the  wood  ; 
He  shall  employ — foes  to  destroy — 
Great  will  and  skill  to  do  us  good  ! 

This  is  the  boy — Piesse's  joy — 

His  kingly  father's  fame  and  crown, 

Whose  youthful  days  deserve  the  praise 
Of  all  the  realm  for  his  renown  ! 

He  shall  be  King,  let  all  Utes  sing, 
When  King  Colorow  is  called  away  ; 

And  we  shall  see  His  Majesty 
Is  more  majestic  every  day  ! 

As  hours  advance,  make  honored  dance 

In  royal  round  of  Indian  ring, 
Till  echoes  bring  back  what  we  sing  : 
'Brave  Konkaput  shall  be  our  King  !' 

I>et  all  the  mountains,  forests,  fountains, 
And  happy  parks,  pour  forth  his  praise, 

Until  he  reigns  o'er  hills  and  plains 
And  Utes  be  given  all  gala  days  ! 

Ivet  lass  and  lover  unite  to  cover 

His  brow  with  the  brilliant  crown 
That  Shawshen    hath  given, as  a  sign  from  heaven, 

With  care  to  be  handed  down  !" 

"Let  Shawsheen  bring  and  crown  him  King !" 
As  far  and  near  their  voices  ring  ; 
Praise  Queen  and  King — 
Hear  them  sir.g. 


A   LEGEND    OF   TWIN   LAKES.  31 

SCENES    X. 

THE  FATAL  STRIFE  AND  THE  FUTURE  STATE: 
IGNOBLE  KNIGHTHOOD. 

The  honor  paid  young  Koukaput 

For  overtaking,  capturing 
Wild  beasts,  was  due  his  prowess — but 

Confessedly  as  coming  King; 
While  sport,  in  such  wild,  simple  ways, 

Suggests  the  gist  of  savage  life, 
And  deeper  wells  of  want  displays, 

Some  social  strain  more  full  of  strife. 
Hence,  oft  a  father  with  a  young 

Fair  daughter,  dictates  for  a  case, 
That,  of  all  youths  with  bows  well  strung, 

He  shall  have  her  who  in  the  chase 
First  kills  an  elk  or  black-tailed  stag; 

And  when  the  game  falls  to  the  ground. 
The  damsel  goes  to  help  him  drag 

It  home,  and  all  huzza  around. 

But  once  Quean t,  a  bear-like  *  youth, 

So  squarely  won  a  suitor's  squaw, 
That  half  the  tribe  averred  the  truth, 

And  sealed  her  his  in  social  law; 
Whereat  Saw- Wick,  the  suitor's  Sheik, 

In  envy  slew  the  valiant  knight; 
Then  Sur-Ap  (Red  Pole)  swore  to  wreak 

Dire  vengeance  as  the  dead  man's  right. 
As  Queant's  friend  this  youth  soon  drives, 

By  challenge,  Saw- Wick  to  the  charge, 
Of  single  combat,  whence  two  lives 

Are  lost.     Upon  a  plateau  large 
They  meet,  with  many  seconds  near, 

To  watch  the  maddened  warrior's  mien, 
And  by  their  presence  cheer 

Their  several  favorite  through  the  scene. 


*  Queant  means  bear. 


432          YOUNG  KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

The  combatants  there  wait  command  ; 

They  stand  as  still  as  storied  Tell, 
With  bow  and  arrow  both  in  hand, 

And  aimed  each  at  the  other  well. 
Then  forth  both  feathered  missiles  fly, 

And  pass  each  other  in  midway, 
So  swift,  they  seem  threads  in  the  sky, 

Or  trembling  sunbeams  at  noonday. 
And  so  exact  the  archers  aim, 

Bach  at  the  other's  vital  part, 
That  both  arrows  barbed  f-ame, 

And  found  a  lodgment  in  the  heart.  * 
Then  the  two  warriors,  wounded,  dead, 

Fell  down  in  silence  at  the  feet 
Of  frantic  friends,  who,  fury-led, 

Now  mingle  conflict  most  complete. 

Here,  at  this  juncture  of  joined  hate, 

When  angry  flocks  of  arrows  fly, 
King  Konkaput  comes  up  in  state; 

With  hand  and  voice  uplifted  high, 
He  shames  their  strife.     He  shouts  "Hold!  Stop! 

Your  course  is  causeless  and  unkind!" 
With  these  stern  words  their  weapons  drop, 

Moved  by  his  manly  strength  of  mind. 

Soon  altogether  mingle  grief 

Above  the  fallen  youths,  and  brave; 

But  more  admire  the  mighty  Chief, 

Who  from  worse  sorrows  so  could  save. 

Then  wide  processions  wend  their  way 

To  the  wild  spot  where  willows  wave, 
.And  lay  their  dead  with  loud  dismay 
Together  in  one  silent  grave. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  33 

Then  old  Ne-Va-Vah— The  White  Snow- 
So  venerably  soft  his  voice — 

Looks  pale  around  and  speaketh  low  : 
"  I/et  all  just  Indians  here  rejoice  ! 

The  passage  under  ground  they  go, 
Though  secret,  is  not  thence  severe, 

For  our  life's  river's  future  flow 

Is  like  the  spring  time  of  the  year. 

And  As  Tomichi's  cheerless  tomb, 

In  dreary  winters'  ward-robe  dressed, 

Has  waiting  summers  in  their  bloom 

When  distant  plains  shall  be  refreshed  ;      » 

So  shall  this  bed  of  sleeping  dead 

Bring  forth  in  brighter  form  our  braves, 

To  wander  woods,  nor  weary  tread 
For  want  of  game,  and  into  graves  ! 

Then  Saw-Wah-Wichet— The  Rain  Bow- 
Reveals  what  beauty  ever  reigns, 

Where  all  good  Indians  glad  will  go 
To  hunt  and  play  o'er  hills  and  plains. 

Thus  warriors  told  their  weeping  squaws 
That  soon  their  sorrows  would  subside, 

And  Pa-Ja-Cha-Put— Eagle's  Claws- 
Gave  out  that  he  would  go  their  guide, 

To  guard  them  hence  to  hunting  ground, 
Where  scenes  beneath  the  setting  sun 

With  all  earth's  beauty  will  abound, 
And  life  in  recreant  leisure  run  ; 

Where  the  glad  moon  lights  glistening  dew, 
In  glory  heights  and  glens  arrayed, 

And  hunters  panting  deer  pursue — 
Bach  hunter,  as  his  deer,  a  shade  ! 

Then  Pa-A-Wich— or  Water-Boy— 

Says,  sitting  down  by  sorrowing  ones  : 
'  I'll  join  you  in  that  world  of  joy 

Beneath  the  smiles  of  setting  suns, 

5 


34          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

And  Nic-Ah-Gwat— the  Chief  Green  Leaf- 
Enumerates  the  noble  game 

He'll  find  and  fetch  them  as  their  chief, 
For  there  the  dead  desire  his  name. 

Soon  Shaw-Wa-Nah — Blue  Flower — says  : 
"  There  violets  forever  bloom, 

And  every  sorrow  vanishes 

Beyond  the  confines  of  the  tomb  ;  " 

And  Cach-E-To-Pah-a  Black  Stone- 
Like  dark -robed  clergy  loud  declares, 

That  "The  Great  Spirit's  gracious  throne 
Still  promises  to  hear  their  prayers  !  " 

To  mourning  mothers  words  most  kind 
By  Tah-Ah-Pitch — or  a  Sweet  Vine — 

Are  borne  by  soft  and  breathing  wind 

From  good  old  Ah-Umph — Graceful  Pine — 

Tah-Be-Wa-Che-Ka— The  Sun  Rise- 
Asks  of  Ah-Kan-Ash— A  Bright  Cloud— 

And  Sha-Wa-Nah,  with  shout  replies  : 
"With  due  surprise  the  dead  shall  rise 

As  night  and  winter  shed  their  shroud." 


A   LEGEND    OF   TWIN   LAKES.  35 

SCE'NEvS    XI. 

THE  UTE  PELTERS  PLAN  THEIR  OUTFIT. 

Now  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che— Taken  Down— 

A  humble,  good,  high-minded  guide, 
Who  helped  Kit  Carson*  to  renown, 

And  sat  and  slept  at  Fremont's  side, 
"A  friendly  Ute"  and  useful  friend, 

Saw  Konkaput's  kind,  princely  air, 
Urged  his  young  impulse  to  expand 

With  precepts  which  his  way  prepare, 
And  taught  him  truths  about  the  earth 

Which  he  had  learned  from  white  men's  lips  ; 
And  of  their  ways,  and  wealth,  and  worth, 

Immense  machines  and  merchant  ships  ; 
And  told  him  of  Tecumseh's  time, 

Of  Logan  and  King  Philip's  day  ; 
Of  princely  races  in  their  prime, 

Now  pressing  West  to  pass  away  ; 

Now  perishing  by  slow  decay  ! 
And  as  they  tilked  together  thus 

Of  old  tradition's  trying  days, 
Till  tidal  waves,  now  wafting  us, 

Seemed  moving  up  in  much  amaze, 
With  Indian  warriors,  driven  West, 

Or  driven  down  among  the  dead, 
The  sad  discourse  so  much  impressed 

The  lad,  his  life  was  by  it  led. 
But  they  had  other  thoughts,  beside, 

And  shared  in  confidence  complete, 
And  "the  good  Ute  and  useful  guide" 

Fondly  to  guard  the  youthful  feet, 
Was  also  hunter  of  high  tone, 

Who  scarce  mistook  the  worth  of  skins, 
Yet  never  took,  except  his  own, 

And  hated  selfish  hunter's  sins. 


*  Kit  Carson,  Bill  Bent,  Jim  Baker  and  Carle  Antobeas  were 
all  famous  scouts  employed  by  the  general  government. 


36          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   U 

An  ardent  lover  of  his  race 

And  hostile  to  unholy  war, 
This  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che  named  the  chase 

Which  Konkaput  kept  wishing  for  ; 
That,  with  a  few  white  and  true  men, 

They  leave  South  Park  and  safely  stray 
Where  the  Ute  braves  had  seldom  been, 

And  stay  six  moons  or  more  away. 

But  Konkaput,  most  filial  yet, 

Revere's  his  father,  King  Colorow, 
And  wisely  would  his  wishes  get, 

Before  agreeing  first  to  go. 
Hence,  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che  with  him  went 

And  placed  before  his  sire  their  plan, 
When  he,  unasked,  gave  his  assent, 

And  said :  "  Well  done,  both  son  and  man 
I  'm  proud  to  praise  what  you  propose, 

And  yet  admit  presentiment : 
Before  we  meet  shall  many  woes 

Despoil  the  Utes,  or  be  all  spent ! 
Still,  come  what  may  and  come  what  must, 

If  we  're  not  all  laid  waste  and  slain, 
I  truly  bid  you  try,  and  trust, 

And  hope  to  greet  you  both  again." 

Prince  Konkaput  loved  Piesse,  too, 

More  than  was  common  then  with  Kings  ; 
His  troth  was,  too,  to  Shawsheen  true, 

And  thought  her  love  above  all  things  ; 
So  to  this  princess'  tender  pride 

He  gave  his  crown,  which  she  had  set, 
And  bade  her  :    "  This  memento  hide 

Till  we  shall  meet ;  do  not  forget !" 
He  then  sat  down  by  the  dear  squaw, 

Who  gave  him  breath,  and  broke  to  her 
The  brightest  future  he  foresaw, 

And  asked  what  course  she  would  prefer. 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  37 

She  heard  with  tears  his  high  intent, 

Yet  felt  a  pride  in  all  his  praise, 
And  calmly  gave  her  kind  consent 

To  spend  alone  her  Spartan  days  ; 
Then  bravely  clasped  him  to  her  breast, 

And  touched  his  heart  with  her  own  tears, 
Which  from  her  bleeding  love  were  blessed 

To  both  his  youth  and  better  years. 
Eight  other  Utes,  with  early  zeal, 

Proposed  to  try  the  trapper's  trade, 
And  to  their  parents  made  appeal, 

Got  their  assent  and  earnest  aid. 

The  plan  is  toward  some  pleasant  place, 

To  bear  their  way  where  beasts  abound, 
And  then  attract  all  the  Ute  race 

Into  that  grander  hunting  ground. 
But  to  complete  the  careful  plan 

They  must  perfect  a  full  outfit; 
'Twere  scarely  more  a  tour  to  scan 

Around  the  earth  and  order  it. 
Yet  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che's  a  choice  hand 

At  culling  needed  things  with  care;  - 

And  ere  they  start  we  see  him  stand, 

With  arms  akimbo,  and  declare, 
With  satisfaction,  half  in  rhyme: 

"We're  bound  to  find  beavers  and  bears, 
And  have  a  brave  and  tip-top  time, 

With  comforts  more  than  all  the  cares! " 
He  invoiced  all  their  rations  well; 

Some  venison  and  such  dried  fruit 
As  squaws  had  picked  and  kept  to  sell, 

And  sundry  other  things  to  suit; 
Comanche  pots  of  perfect  kind, 

A  well-sewed  pouch  of  purest  salt,  * 

And  strings  and  straps  to  loose  and  bind 

Their  bundles  where  they  bed  or  halt ; 


38    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTKS 

A  flint  that  flashes  easy  fire, 

Some  punk  put  up  in  soft,  dry  bark, 
And  dainty  bags,  big  with  desire 

To  hold  as  much  as  Noah's  ark, 
Yet  small  enough  to  swing  at  ease 

Upon  a  weary  hunter's  back, 
To  put  therein  whate'r  he  please, 

That  they  may  live  with  little  lack. 

THEIR   FIRST   FIRE   ARMS. 

He  also  got  one  old-time  gun, 

With  lock  and  ram-rod  looking  right, 
And  bought  the  means,  bullets  to  run, 

All  which  was  then  a  wondrous  sight, 
And  seen  with  superstitious  awe — 

With  staring  eyes  and  well-stopped  ears, 
The  crowds  around  him  cringing  draw, 

As  he  for  fun  excites  their  fears. 
The  noise,  ignited  with  a  spark; 

The  powder  horn  and  bullet  mole; 
His  power  to  hit  a  well-put  mark, 

And  pile  the  balls  in  their  first  hole; 
The  whole  machine  amazed  so  much 

The  Utes  around,  each  coveted 
A  gun  for  fun,  a  gift  just  such 

A  dangerous  thing,  that  so  well  did. 

They  heard  it  roar,  then  ran  and  hid, 

Nor  disobeyed  what  he  should  bid. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  39 

SCENES    XII. 

THE   YOUNG    HUNTERS   LEAVING   HOME. 

When  all  were  done  with  that  one  gun, 

Surveying  every  separate  part, 
They  eyed  the  whole  outfit  as  one 

With  ardent  love  of  useful  art. 
'Twas  a  new  scene  beneath  the  sun, 

An  era  in  the  Utes'  ideas 
Which  showed  how  much  is  shortly  done 

When  all  unite  to  plan  and  please. 
See  ten  wild  ponies  all  well  packed 

With  nameless  needfuls  and  nick-nacks, 
So  nicely  laid  they  nothing  lacked, 

With  bows  and  lances  on  their  backs. 
The  ten  proud  boys  turned  to  depart 

All  consciously  increased  in  worth, 
While  old  and  young^to  see  them  start, 

Stand  round  in  mingled  stare  and  mirth. 
For  the  young  King,  Shawsheen,  his  Queen, 

Has  brought  his  steed,  well  bred'  and  stout, 
And  seems  the  proudest  in  the  scene — 

Though  but  a  sigh  as  they  set  out ! 
While  Colorow  poses  near  Piesse, 

With  yearning  pride  o'er  their  young  prince 
In  buoyant  words  their  heir  to  bless — 

Sad  hearts  !     They've  never  seen  him  since ! 

'Twas  a  delightful  sunny  day 

To  link  the  summer  and  September, 
When  these  wild  pelters  went  their  way 

With  parting  words  they  will  remember, 
From  mate  and  sire,  old  men  and  squaws, 

And  on  they  drive  till  cold  December, 
The  beaver  to  his  bed-room  draws 

And  bears  digest  each  digit  member,* 


*  It  is  on  old  notion  that  bears  "suck  their  claws,"  one  by 
one,  in  winter. 


40          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF 

Three  trappers  led,  both  true  and  bold, 

Who  speak  the  Ute,  French,  English,  well  ; 
Nor  need  be  told  the  bears'  stronghold, 

Or  where  minks,  otters,  beavers  dwell ; 
For  oft  they've  strolled  'rnong  mountain  streams 

And  killed  wild  beasts  just  for  their  skins, 
Which  warmest  grow  as  fall's  gray  beams 

Contract  and  winter's  cold  begins. 

But  mark  the  make-up  of  those  men — 

A  Celt,  a  Saxon,  and  a  Gaul, 
Over  Ute  boys,  as  brave  a  ten 

As  ever  answered  a  roll-call ! 
Could  we  their  diary  declare, 

Their  deeds  of  daring  every  day, 
The  facts  and  fancies  of  their  fare, 

What  all  and  several  do  and  say — 
No  book  in  print  could  so  present 

The  wonders  of  a  wandering  life, 
On  one  bold  purpose  purely  bent — 

Of  thirteen  strangers  without  strife  ! 

If  Franco — Scoto — Anglican, 

And  their  ten  Utes  get  out  of  tune, 
One  scarcely  dares  attempt  to  scan 

What  jars  may  fall  from  fall  to  June. 
The  very  trappers'  triple  views — 

A  papist,  prelate,  presbyter — 
Though  all  irreverent  language  use, 

Make  all,  indeed,  to  each  defer. 
If  in  their  greed  they're  wanting  grace 

They'll  grow  to  learn  how  great  their  loss, 
As  brothers  of  one  blood-bought  race, 

And  so  come  to  one  common  cross  ! 
These  clever  men— Scott,  Petit,  Clark— 

As  wise  men  coming  from  the  East 
To  seek  the  Prince  of  the  South  Park, 


A  LEGRND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.          41 

Were  made  fast  friends  first  at  a  feast 
With  the  Ute  Chiefs  of  cheery  soul, 

Where  Ka-Ni-Ah-Che  told  the  tale 
Of  Konkaput's  proud  self-control— 

Of  which  they  all  would  so  avail 
As  best  to  serve  their  several  firms, 

For  which  they  now  unite  their  cause 
And  start  on  stipulated  terms, 

That  serve  instead  of  statute  laws. 


If  they  prefer  at  any  time 

To  cease  to  act  as  three  in  one, 
Or  either  party  commit  crime, 

That  day  their  partnership  is  done. 
So  very  well  they  weave  their  views 

And  start  off  for  "the  Yellowstone"- 
While  we  await,  meanwhile,  the  news, 

And  seek  Shawsheen,  left  sad  and  lone. 


42          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE)   KING   OF   UTRS. 

SCENES    XIII. 

SHAWSHEEN'S  MUSINGS,  THE  SHY  MAIDEN. 
As  the  wild  pelters  passed  away 

Shawsheen,  as  shy  as  shadows  are, 
Did  every  dark  and  sunny  day 

Feel  how  and  where  they  hunt  and  fare  ; 
Till  woods  and  waters,  parks  and  peaks 

Had  a  new  nature  to  her  now, 
And  their  Kind  Spirit,  echoing,  speaks 

Her  virgin  breast's  betrothal  vow. 
For  Konkaput  should  surely  come 

To  take  his  bride,  and  by  her  side, 
With  furs  and  feathers,  fit  their  home 

Where  she'd  preside  in  princely  pride. 
Paul  and  Virginia's  impulse  pure 

Did,  in  no  sense  nor  part,  surpass 
The  sacred  bond,  that  bound  secure 

To  her  loved  Chief  this  cherished  lass. 

The  first  week  the  pelters  journeyed 
She  went  oft  to  Colorado — 
To  Piesse's  heaving  bosom — 
As  if  seeking  for  her  lover, 
And  seemed  loth  to  leave  their  wigwam-, 
Till  one  day  she  saw  her  brother 
Tying  fast  a  half-grown  wolf-pup 
With  a  braided  bark  of  mosse-wood ; 
It  was  wild  and  gray  and  pretty — 
Arrow  gave  it  it  to  his  sister. 

This  diverted  her  now  daily 
From  her  lonliness  and  sorrow. 
In  a  little  while  it  loved  her 
And  was  safely  soon  untethered, 
And  henceforth  it  seldom  left  her — 
[  Till  it  fell  a  prey  to  pumas, 
Which  it  fought  for  her  protection 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES. 

When  she  went  in  search  of  berries, 

And  they  crouched  to  spring  upon  her.] 

This  young  wolf  she  surnamed  Lopa, 

(As  if  lupa  in  old  Latin 

Had  been  taught  her  by  some  Remus, 

Who  had  been  by  it  protected  ) 

And  it  daily  played  about  her, 

And  at  night  shared  half  her  bear-skins — 

Slept  and  watched  all  night  beside  her, 

And  by  day  went  with  her  hunting 

For  the  berries  and  the  ripe  nuts, 

For  the  rabbits  and  the  gophers ; 

And  one  time  it  caught  a  squirrel, 

Which  was  yet  so  young  and  tender, 

That  the  maiden  took  and  nursed  it, 

Till  the  little  ski-o-ura — 

As  the  old  Greeks  named  the  creature, 

From  the  screen  of  its  tail's  shadow — 

Used  to  leap  upon  her  shoulder, 

Hide  itself  in  her  black  tresses, 

Till  young  Lopa  looked  on  laughing — 

For  the  wolf  sometimes  seems  laughing — 

And  the  trio  were  so  happy 

That  the  Spirit  of  the  Mountains 

Joined  them  also,  just  delighted  ! 

But  the  wolf,  as  we  have  stated, 
Fought  and  fell  before  the  lions, 
And  Ski-o-ura,  the  young  squirrel, 
Was  snatched  up  by  a  small  eagle  ; 
Then  Shawsheen  became  so  lonesome, 
That  the  mountains  put  on  shadows, 
As  she  tried  to  look  beyond  them, 
Where  her  lover  and  the  pelters 
Were  far  northward  daily  pressing, 
And  they  echoed  to  her  longing 
As  she  blended  sighs  with  singing. 


44          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,    THE   KING    OF   UTE)S. 

The  soul  of  music  and  of  sadness 

Bchoed  from  the  nearest  hillsides, 

Every  evening,  every  morning. 

Thus  she  thought  upon  the  absent, 

Thus  she  sang  about  her  lover, 

Of  his  otters'  skins  and  beavers', 

Of  his  feathers  plucked  from  eagles, 

From  the  bluejay  and  the  jackdaw, 

From  the  orioles  and  pheasants. 

Oft  she  sang  to  Colorado 

Of  the  legends  he  had  taught  her, 

Like  the  runes  of  ancient  Finland, 

In  the  rythm  of  Hiawatha, 

From  the  shell  in  shade  of  Harvard, 

Where  the  prince  of  poets  sauntered, 

Sang  she  often  to  her  kindred 

Till  the  tribe  her  song  repeated — 

How  the  Senoblaze  of  heaven 

Looked  once  upon  wide  spread  waters 

And  there  brooded  till  the  ocean's 

Waves  were  parted  for  the  islands, 

And  the  hills  and  mountains  new  born — 

Fish  and  sea  shells  still  upon  them — 

All  arose  to  bless  the  waters, 

As  the  parents  of  the  dry  land, 

With  the  woods  and  flowers  their  daughters; 

How  the  sun  had  brought  forth  children 

From  the  red  earth,  dried  to  Indians, 

All  ill-treated  tribes  of  red  men, 

Bven  the  Ute  tribe,  her  own  nation, 

With  its  rising  King,  her  lover, 

Whom  she  wished  to  see  inlensely, 

In  recesses  of  the  mountains  ; 

There  to  dress  and  cook  his  venison, 

There  to  be  his  willing  servant. 

Then  sometimes  she  roamed  in  silence, 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  45 

When  she  heard  the  voice  of  thunder 
Peal  on  peal,  speak  to  the  mountains, 
And  the  mountains  to  each  other ; 
Saw  the  lightning  shoot  its  arrows 
At  the  towering  rocks  and  cedars ; 
Then  she  hushed  her  heart  in  silence, 
Listening  to  the  voice  of  nature, 
Listening  to  the  Lord,  its  author- 
Listening  unto  God  Almighty  ! 

Then,  when  thunder's  voice  was  silent, 
This  poor,  yet  impassioned,  pagan, 
In  her  guileless  hearted  girlhood, 
Spoke  out  to  the  unseen  Spirit : 
'  O,  I  beg  thee,  do  not  kill  me  ; 
Let  me  know  what  is  thy  pleasure, 
For  I  greatly  fear  and  tremble 
Lest  by  mayhap  I  offend  thee — 
Who  canst  smite  the  rocks  asunder  ! 
Who  canst  split  pine  trees  to  splinters  ! 
Senoblaze,  do  love  and  bless  me, 
For  I  long  to  see  and  love  thee  !  " 

So  her  faith  and  fear  would  mingle 
As  she  sang  her  sacred  solo, 
Sang  of  love  that  gilds  the  morning, 
Decks  the  night  in  robes  of  spangles, 
Clothes  the  birds  and  flowers  with  beauty, 
That  gives  meat  unto  the  hungry— 
To  the  panting  heart  wild  honey  ! 

Once  she  sang  in  a  sweet  dale 

Such  as  was  the  Temple-Vale  : 

"I  have  longing,  holy  longing, 

Which  no  human  tongue  can  tell, 

It  doth  deep  within  me  dwell, 
Where  love's  thrilling  hopes  are  thronging. 
I  have  fancies,  happy  fancies 

Of  my  fair  one  far  away  ; 


46    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

He  seems  near  me  night  and  day, 
Till  with  fancies  memory  dances  ; 
So  the  varying  year  advances. 
I  remember,  I  remember 

When  he  left  and  left  his  crown 
How  our  future  seemed  to  frown  ! 
Though  our  love  was  true  and  tender. 
I  remember  how  he,  seated 

Near  me,  told  his  troth  and  love, 
As  if  borne  me  from  above, 
And  my  praise  he  much  repeated. 
Can  such  faith  be  e'er  defeated  ? 
I  behold  him,  now  behold  him, 
Hunting  bison,  beavers,  bears, 
Snaring  "wise  owls"  unawares, 
And  I  see  soft  furs  enfold  him  ; 
And  hereafter,  our  hereafter, 
Hope's  hereafter  hastens  near, 
When  he'll  meet  and  greet  me  here,' 
And  my  love  leaps  into  laughter, 
Aye,  so  may  we  meet  hereafter?" 

So  she  sang  in  solos  often, 
In  her  soul,  and  sometimes  louder, 
In  the  ears  of  neighboring  mountains  : 
"O,  thou  unseen  One  and  Mighty, 
Who  canst  kill  me  with  thy  lightning, 
Do  not  harm  my  distant  lover ! 
Bring  him  back  to  me  in  safety, 
L/aden  with  his  furs  and  feathers, 
With  his  weapons  and  his  war-paints 
To  defend  his  own  Ute  nation 
In  our  darkest,  thickest  dangers  : 
Unda  hola — How  I  love  him  ! 
I  eschew  all  other  lovers." 

As  thus  she  sang  full  many  a  song, 
They  seemed  so  like  a  living  soul, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  47 

They  leapt  in  loving  sounds  along 

Where  breezes  blow  and  rivers  roll ; 
And  since  she  kept  no  carrier  dove, 

Nor  courier,  post-man,  pen  or  wire 
To  interchange  their  thoughts  of  love, 
We  must  her  muse  the  more  admire. 
So,  too,  ere  she's  heard  the  story 

Of  God's  love  to  be  a  Savior, 
Or  the  scenes  of  Sinai's  glory, 

She  has  sought  the  heavenly  favor 
And  become  a  benefactress 

To  her  suffering  Indian  neighbors — 
Even  to  some  unkind  and  thankless ; 
Aye,  her  love  was  full  of  labors. 
And  she  was  so  kind  to  captives, 
Some,  indeed,  who  had  pale  faces  ; 
She  was  a  new  Pocohontas 
In  the  wigwams  of  Powhatau, 
And  her  love  soon  won  both  sexes — 
She  seemed  noble,  above  nature, 
With  the  love  of  God  enamored. 

Thus  she  lived,  and  loved,  and  trembled,. 
Heeding  the  draped  forms  of  nature, 
And  its  sweet  and  awful  voices — 
Voices  of  the  lightning's  thunder, 
Voices  of  the  snow-capped  mountains, 
Voices  of  the  vales  and  hill-sides  ;    * 
Voices  of  the  woods  and  waters, 
Voices  of  the  leaves  and  zephyrs  ; 
Voices  of  her  hopes  and  heart-aches, 
Voices  of  her  fears  and  fancies ; 
Voices  of  the  birds  of  omen, 
Voices  of  the  Unseen  Spirit — 
All  the  while  her  chief  was  absent — 
Absent  with  the  white  fur-traders, 
Who  knew  not  what  she  was  doing. 


48  YOUNG    KONKAPUT,    THE   KING    OF   UTES. 

SCENES    XIV. 

AN   INDIAN   HORSE   RACE   IN   SOUTH   PARK,  AND   ITS 
RESULTANT   HATRED. 

When  youths  are  given  to  games  of  chance, 

They  crowd  the  ways  to  waste  and  crime  : 
The  Utes  to  chance  from  skill  advance —      . 

They  hit  the  target  every  time  ; 
Then  wager  for  the  highest  prize. 

They  find  horse-racing  full  of  fun, 
And  sometimes  win  their  wished  supplies 

By  their  rough  steeds  that  fastest  run. 
The  day  the  furriers  started,  ten 

Young,  fierce  Apaches  came  to  camp  ; 
They  were  the  wildest  of  wild  men, 

Off  on  a  truant,  loafing  tramp. 
Bach  had  a  horse  plucked  from  the  plains 

And  proved  by  practice  proud  in  speed, 
Yet  used  to  neither  yoke  nor  reins, 

But  ridden  to  sorry  sights  indeed  ! 
These  guileful  youths  were  made  the  guests 

Of  the  whole  camp,  a  thing  of  course, 
And  feted  to  incessant  feasts, 

Revealing  the  whole  tribe's  resource. 
Their  jaded  horse-flesh,  too,  were  fed 

In  verdant  fields,  and  in  full  view  ; 
The  sight  of  which  one  evening  led 

To  bantering  what  such  beasts  could  do  ! 
The  Chief  Apache,  Chance  by  name, 

Proposed  next  day  to  test  their  power  : 
So  to  the  game  galled  racers  came, 

All  worn  and  winded  by  the  hour  ; 
Of  jaded  "scare-crows  "  just  a  score  ! 

The  Utes  bet  horses,  blankets,  skins, 
While  the  Apaches  promised  more 

If  the  Ute  "round-up*  "  really  wins. 


*  Round-up,  a  legal  term  for  gathering  and  comparing  live 
stock. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  49 

Ten  Utes,  on  broncos  old  and  brown, 

Which  have  borne  burdens  long  and  far, 

Up[the  mountain  sides  and  down, 
And  won  at  first  in  filching  war, 


Seem  even  racers  in  trray 

With  ten  Apaches  ponied  well 

On  "skin  and  bones" — a  sad  display; 
And  which  shall  win  no  one  can  tell ! 


See  twice  ten  ponies  set  in  pairs, 

With  riders  plumed,  on  the  plateau  ! 
Bach  Ute  a  wig  of  skunk's  skin  wears ; 

All  bear  their  lances  or  a  bow. 
First  five  of  each  go  and  come  back — 

A  two-mile  stretch,  or  thereabout — 
And  at  the  end  of  the  round  track 

They  shoot  a  target,  with  a  shout. 
When  these  are  tallied,  then  ten  more 

Ride  for  the  target  in  their  turn, 
And  shout  and  shoot,  just  as  before ; 

Then  all  come  near  results  to  learn. 
The  judge  is  White  Lock,  Soc-We-Ock, 

Whose  head  still  has  his  mother's  mark, 
Who,  enceinte,  saw  a  single  lock 

Of  white  haired  scalp,  with  others  dark. 
This  young  White  Lock  is  a  wise  youth 

Whom  all  the  Utes  regard  as  just, 
And  so  well  tried  in  fact  for  truth 

That  in  his  word  they  all  will  trust. 
The  leading  riders  of  the  Utes 

Are  Pah-No-Ar,  that  is,  Broad  Brow, 


50    YOUNG  KONKA.PUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Qu-E-Ah-Tah,  Bear,  chief  of  brutes, 

And  Ugly  Boy,  Sub-I-To-Ou. 
Both  five  Ute  boys  are  brave,  but  small, 

Wiry,  wily  and  well  trained  ; 
Each  five  Apaches,  too,  are  tall, 

Tough,  bony  fellows,  and  full  brained. 
When  the  first,  all  hear  White  Lock  call, 

They  each  exclaim  his  racer's  name  ; 
Then,  pegasoi,  these  ponies  all 

Fly  o'er  the  fields  like  winged  flame. 

So  much  of  turf  is  tossed  up  there, 

Their  beasts  are  as  if  winged  bulls 
Engaged  in  pawing  earth  and  air  ; 

And  each  contestant  harder  pulls, 
As  he  draws  back  his  twanging  bow 

To  hit  the  target  in  the  eye, 
And  pierce  it  with  his  arrow's  blow — 

As  if  a  living*  deer  must  die. 
The  first  half  hold  out  all  the  way  ; 

For  even  the  laggards  can  not  tell 
But  that  their  friends  shall  win  the  day, 

When  all,  indeed,  seem  doing  well. 

But  the  excitement's  highest  pitch 

Is  when  the  last  set  first  set  out  ; 
For  soon  it  is  decided  which 

Shall  win  the  race  beyond  a  doubt. 
The  shrewd  Apaches  had  held  back 

Their  thorough  racers  for  this  round, 
And  soon  as  these  dash  on  the  track 

The  Utes  are  distanced  at  a  bound. 
Now  one  bold  boy,  Buzzard  by  name, — 

Saw-Wah-Wick  is  the  Indian  word — 
Swore  he'd  sweep  down  and  scoop  the  game 

With  Saviath — swoop  of  a  big  bird. 


*  The  targ-et  was  a  stuffed  deer-skin. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  51 

These  fellows  of  the  baser  sort 

Then  seized  the  Apache's  ponies  first, 
As  if  to  have  some  special  sport. 

The  wild  old  Utes,  then,  worst  to  worst, 
Affirmed  the  affair  was  all  unfair, 

And  so  unfair  'twas  fairly  won 
By  their  Ute  boys   who  had  good  care 

That  only  honest  racers  run. 
And  so,  before  White  Ivock  adjudged, 

Or  the  good  racers  reached  the  goal, 
Big  Bird  and  Swoop,  who  both  begrudged 

The  prizes,  swooped  and  scooped  the  whole. 

The  Apaches,  skunked,*  lost  furs  and  skins, 

And  horses,  blankets,  feathers,  all — 
For  might  o'er  right  first  really  wins, 

Where  power  concludes  wrong  right  to  call. 
And  what  could  half  a  score  of  boys, 

Untutored  braves,  though  tough  as  bears, 
Accomplish  when  a  tribe  employs 

Their  wdles  against  them  and  their  shares. 

'Tis  like  a  Godless  gambling  den, 

In  Leadvllle,  Denver,  or  New  York, 
Decoying  in  defenseless  men 

From  rural  walks  when  out  of  work. 
All  games  of  chance — not  given  their  chance — 

Are  lawless  mockery,  more  or  less; 
Yet  he  that  knows  this  in  advance, 

Deserves  small  sooth  in  his  distress, 
When  he  is  robbed  of  rustic  gains, 

And  made  to  march  off  in  disgrace: 
The  robbers  shall  of  course  reap  pains, 

Yet  foiled  ones  well  may  hide  their  face. 


*  A  forcible  western  expression  won  from  the  Indians,  and 
indicates  an  unfair  conquest. 


62  YOUNG    KONKAPUT,    THE    KING    OF   UTES. 

King  Colorado  cursed  the  crew 

That  would  degrade  Ute  honor  so; 
And  yet,  what  else  could  the  King  do 
But  give  the  Apaches  peace  to  go. 
So  empty,  angry,  wholly  stripped, 

The  strangers  start  with  stinging  wrath, 
And  go  like  whining  mastiffs  whipped, 
With  pent  up  growls  along  their  path. 

With  deep  chagrin  they  come  at  length 

To  the  Apaches'  far-off  plain, 
Where  the  full  tribe  in  fearful  strength 

Receive  them  with  wrathful  disdain. 
They'd  have  them  "stay  in  Jericho" 

Until  their  beards  were  better  grown, 
Rather  than  come  cowed,  ruined  so, 

With  nothing  caught,  nor  kept  their  own; 
But  their  alternatives  were,  choice 

To  fight  (most  rash),  or  further  roam, 
Or  join  their  friends,  who  should  rejoice 

To  see  and  have  them  safe  at  home. 
It  was  far  safer  to  succumb, 

And  wiser,  than  to  wrongly  win, 
To  don  their  insults  as  if  dumb, 

And  learn  some  wisdom  from  such  sin. 

Meantime  Ute  boys  and  older  braves 

Divide  their  spoil  with  vain  debate, 
Till  fights  have  filled  a  few  mores  graves, 

And  heaped  their  lodges  full  of  hate. 
Nor  is  this  finale  all  the  end: 

Such  winning  waked  a  wicked  war, 
Which  did  from  tribe  to  tribe  extend, 

Both  lasting  long  and  reaching  far  ; 

Results  of  which  we're  waiting  for. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.        .  5S 

SCENES    XV. 

THE  UTE-APACHE  WAR,  WITH  BATTLES  WON  BY  BOTH. 

The  fierce  Apaches  forthwith  felt 

That  they  must  have  due  honor  done, 
Or  the  Ute  bend  of  peace  must  melt, 

And  booty  be  by  battles  won. 
They  formed  at  once  peace  with  old  foes, 

And  urged  straightway  a  union  strong, 
With  Sioux,  Cheyennes,  Arapahoes, 

T'  avenge  so  rank  and  vile  a  wrong. 
The  Cheyennes,  Sioux,  Arapahoes, 

With  their  first  fire-arms  in  their  hands, 
The  Crows,  Comanches,  Navajos, 

With  brave  and  well-trained  warrior  bands, 
In  willing  faith  welcome  the  facts, 

And  find,  in  councils  near  and  far, 
A  wish  to  scourge  such  wicked  acts 

With  crushing  power  of  common  war. 
The  Utes,  like  Ammou's  sons  of  old, 

See  that  their  sin  smells  rank  atd  sore, 
And  hasten  to  their  high  stronghold 

Till  the  Apache  war  be  o'er. 
Their  mountain  fastnesses  afford 

Protection  more  than  men  can  prize, 
Against  a  predatory  horde 

Who  from  the  plains  might  plan  to  rise. 
For  all  the  Utes  know  every  inch 

Of  every  height  and  every  pass; 
Their  nerves  and  flesh,  too,  never  flinch 

Before  armed  men,  few  or  in  mass. 
Hence,  if  the  Indians  on  the  plains 

Attempt  to  storm  the  mountains  wild, 
They  must  expect  for  all  their  pains, 

That  countless  warriors  will  be  killed. 
The  best  of  armies,  even,  fight 

Against  the  Utes  with  fearful  odds, 
For  every  sound  and  every  sight 


54    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Seem  gathering  round  like  savage  gods; 
And  whether  skies  are  white  and  clear, 

Or  thund'ring  full  of  threat'ning  rains, 
The  heights  and  depths  have  dead'ning  fear, 

For  pluckiest  ranks  reared  on  the  plains. 


A  canon  thirty  miles  in  length, 
With  walls  a  thousand  feet  in  air, 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  55 

Can  flank  the  mightiest  martial  strength 

And  fill  the  foe  with  fell  despair. 
To  stand  on  high  and  hurl  down  stones 

Like  gliding  hail  storms  down  the  glen, 
Would  get  in  turn  but  dying  groans 

From  the  best  armed  and  bravest  men. 
In  proof,  the  Apaches  soon  proceed 

To  hunt  the  Utes  in  their  stronghold, 
Their  hosts  advance  with  alert  heed, 

And  carry  guns  in  cohorts  bold. 
Their  combined  legions  laboring  come 

Among  the  foothills,  cliffs  and  peaks, 
To  find  a  dark  and  fatal  doom, 

That  in  one  brightening  moment  breaks. 
They  come  to  Canon  of  Cheyenne — 

Perhaps  mistaken  for  Ute  Pass — 
And  mass  in  camp  uncounted  men, 

With  booths  and  beds  of  brush  and  grass; 
And  scarce  have  sent  thence  hurrying  scouts, 

To  search  the  wished-for  seat  of  war, 
And  find  more  ready  facile  routes, 

Ere  hails  the  foe  they're  hunting  for. 

For,  as  they  know  not  their  new  arms, 

But  handle  powder  heedlessly, 
A  loud  explosion  so  alarms 

The  whole  encampment  that  they  flee 
Up  beetling  heights,  where  they  behold 

An  ambushed  army  of  Ute  braves, 
Who  burst  down  on  them,  dread  and  bold, 

And  send  them  groaning  to  their  graves. 

Now,  on  receiving  this  sad  news, 

The  old  vSioux  chiefs,  who  seldom  yield, 

And  fierce  Apaches,  firm  as  Sioux,  (Sous), 
In  fuller  forces  seek  the  field; 

But,  chastened  by  such  losses,  choose 
More  cautious  paths  to  posts  concealed, 


56          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF 

By  means  of  many  magic  clews, 

Until  the  Utes  are  all  revealed. 
In  the  Arkansas'  deep  ravine, 

Without  suspicion  of  assault, 
Their  several  campmeuts  are  soon  seen, 

Basking  beneath  heaven's  bended  vault. 
The  scalps  of  the  late  waylaid  ranks, 

Slain  in  the  Canon  of  Cheyenne, 
Are  promenading  in  odd  pranks 

Upon  the  heads  of  hardened  men, 

While  their  rough  squaws  sit  squatting  'round, 

Rejoiced  with  the  revolting  scene: 
Then  suddenly,  like  thunder  sound, 

From  the  rough  rim  of  the  ravine, 
A  hundred  guns  give  the  alarm; 

But  Colorado,  calm  and  clear, 
Cries:  "Warriors,  Arm  !  "  and  like  a  charm 

Their  faith  in  him  casts  out  all  fear. 

Swift  up  the  heights,  lances  in  hand, 

They  rush  in  several  serried  ranks, 
And,  hand  to  hand,  the  hosts  both  stand, 

And  smite  down  braves  on  bloody  banks — 
Banks  that  for  ages  stainless  stood, 

But  henceforth  bear  in  yearly  bloom 
Red  blossoms,  stained  with  red  men's  blood, 

To  tell  their  common,  cruel  doom. 

King  Colorado  here  was  killed  ! 

Reduced  to  tribute  was  his  tribe; 
Till  wasted  Utes  with  want  are  filled; 

Their  squaws  too  squalid  to  describe. 
Shawsheen  was  captured  by  a  chief 

Of  the  Cheyennes  or  shameless  Sioux; 
While  sad  Piesse  soon  dies  of  grief, 

With  none  to  bear  her  son  the  news, 

Or  to  her  fate  give  faintest  clews. 


KING  COLORADO  I. 


-58          YOUNG    KONKAPUT,  THE   KING    OF   UTES. 
SCENES    XVT, 

THE   FARE  AND  COURSE  OF  THE   FUR   CARAVAN. 

As  we  have  seen,  two  belial  sous 

Waked  the  fierce  war,  like  forest  fire; 
From  plains  to  peaks  the  passion  runs, 

With  the  war  demon's  worst  desire; 
But  meanwhile  in  both  parks  and  woods, 

And  following  rivers  near  and  far, 
In  gay  pursuit  of  peltry  goods, 

Young  KonkapuL  heard  not  of  war. 
His  course  has  been  one  constant  quest 

Of  footprints  by  some  fur-clad  beast; 
And,  always  hoping  for  the  best, 

Of  news  from  home  he's  not  the  least. 
An  instance  this  of  fancy's  bliss; 

For  day  and  night  he  dreamed  and  thought 
Of  the  dear  faces  he  did  miss, 

And  fancy  brought  the  joys  he  sought. 
First  northward  went  his  caravan 

To  sources  of  the  Yellowstone; 
For  it  was  in  the  tradeis'  plan 

To  touch  at  stations,  one  by  one, 
Where  other  trappers'  peltry  trade 

Had  quasi  depots,  to  acquaint 
Them  with  their  course,  for  mutual  aid, 

If  there  should  come  hostile  complaint. 

At  length  they  halt  to  try  their  hands 

And  map  their  hunting  for  three  moons, 
Where  Fremont's  Peak  a  frost  tower  stands, 

And  furs  abound — from  fat  raccoons 
To  finest  ermine,  sable,  fitch; 

And  central  stations  stand  secure, 
Made  strong  as  fortresses,  from  which 

Provisions  they  in  stress  procure. 
Here  scenery  of  Siberian  stamp, 

And  stretching  off  like  Russian  steppes, 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  59 

Surrounds  the  crude  fur-trader's  camp — 

A  perfect  paradise  for  traps  ! 
The  beauty  charmed  the  entire  band  ; 

And  specially  the  Utes  aspired 
To  try  their  will  and  skill  of  hand 

In  hunting  now  the  game  desired. 
The  morning  after  they  here  came 

Young  Konkaput  captured  a  moose — 
(Perhaps  an  elk,  the  proper  name). 

He  held  this  moose  in  a  strong  noose, 
And,  well  disguised  in  a  bear's  skin, 

Worried  him  out  of  his  own  will ; 
Then,  as  himself,  made  haste  to  win 

His  faith,  and  fed  him  to  the  fill  ! 
In  one  half  moon,  much  to  his  praise, 

The  boy  made  him  obey  his  mind, 
Till  in  a  sledge — a  type  of  sleighs — 

They  flew  away  like  winged  wind  ; 
Then  homeward  came  with  hosts  of  game, 

Killed  by  his  simple  shaft  and  bow  ; 
Which  added  fame  to  the  Ute  name, 

As  if  they  all  were  gifted  so. 

But  it  seemed  best  to  break  their  band  ; 

One-half  to  help  the  French  suite  here, 
The  rest,  in  Konkaput's  command, 

To  seek  some  point  not  very  near. 
The  first  five  are  Kah-Ni-A-Che 

And  the  four  privates  he  prefers  ; 
These  are  employed  by  French  Petit  * 

To  seek  for  game  and  so:t  its  furs, 

And  note  with  care  whate'er  occurs. 
The  parting  of  the  Utes  was  when 

They  felt  heartsick  for  some  home  news, 


*  Pronounced  Petee,  and  its  rhyming  mate  may  have  its 
accents  either  on  the  first  and  third  or  second  and  fourth  sylla- 
bles, as  the  Utes  used  both  pronunciations. 


60    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And,  though  "  Indians  are  tearless  men," 
Their  words-  were  deep  and  warm  adieus  ; 

For  they  were  from  their  friends  afar, 
Like  wanderers  in  foreign  lands, 

And  hostile  tribes  might  hasten  war 
And  sweep  off  both  the  parting  bands. 

Kah-Ni-Ah-Che  and  Konkaput, 

I/ike  Saul  and  Jesse's  loving  heirs, 
Were  constitutionally  cut 

To  share  each  other  in  full  shares  ; 
Indeed,  each  deemed  as  dear  as  life 

His  friend,  and  could  have  for  him  died,. 
Either  upon  a  field  of  strife 

Or  lingering  by  the  sufferer's-  side. 

The  parting  of  these  two  appears, 

Therefore,  tempered  to  the  time, 
And  in  the  light  of  later  years 

It  was  both  simple  and  sublime  ; 
But  Konkaput  bore  every  case 

With  a  presentiment  of  yore, 
That,  most  of  them  would  see  his  face 

Upon  such  earthly  scenes  no  more. 

He  said  :     "  I  go,  but  ye  remain  ; 

What  shall  befall  us  none  can  know  ; 
Some  may  be  sick  and  some  be  slain, 

But  be  good,  do  good,  as  we  go, 
Is  my  new  motto  for  us  now, 

And  may  our  days  be  ordered  so 
That  Time  shall  bring  upon  his  brow 

The  gladdening  beams  of  beauty's  glow  ; 

Such  as  my  Queen  herself  might  show. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  61 

SCENES    XVII. 

FROM   YELLOWSTONE   ALONG   THE   GREEN. 

Scott,  Clark  and  their  five  cross  the  range 

To  Lyon's  Lake  (as  lately  called), 
Where  scenery,  picturesque  and  strange, 

Has  still  "Three  Tetons"  well  installed; 
Where,  from  this  Rocky  Mountain  height, 

Flows  "Green "-bank  river  toward  the  Grand, 
In  which  merge  both  the  Bear  and  White, 

Where  snow  and  bruin's  symbols  stand. 
This  verdant  river,  vaguely  known, 

The  trappers  fancy  full  of  furs ; 
And  with  a  guide,  a  good  Shoshone, 

And  Kon kaput,  they  follow  her, 
As  she  flows  southwest  to  the  sea, 

Through  garden  soils  and  golden  sand, 
Till  Colorado  sets  her  free 

On  California's  far-off  strand. 


But  first,  for  this  long  enterprise, 

They  barter  with  the  Snake-Bannocks 

To  sell  them  suitable  supplies, 

Which  they  concealed  among  the  rocks ; 

Then  they  start  slowly  down  the  stream, 
With  safety  and  such  full  success, 


62          YOUNG    KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   U-TES. 

That  Konkaput's  tamed,  captured  team 

Is  wealth  in  the  wild  wilderness. 
For  the  tough  bronchos  they  had  brought 

Up  to  the  post  on  Yellowstone, 
Marauding  Indian  men  had  caught ; 

And  since  then  they'd  secured  none  ; 
But  this  mild,  conquered  moose  became 

As  rare  and  deft  as  a  reindeer  ; 
Kind  A-Ca-Wa  (Pink  Eyes),  his  name, 

And  staid  as  "  Alden's  snow  white  steer."* 

Indeed  he  proved  useful  and  nice  ; 

He  drew  his  sledge  o'er  drifting  snow, 
And  waded  streams  or  trod  their  ice 

With  speed  to  suit,  or  fast  or  slow  ; 
And  Konkaput,  to  him  most  kind, 

Could  ride  elk-back  and  lead  the  band, 
And  to  his  antlers  tell  his  mind 

By  gentlest  touches  of  his  hand. 
So  Konkaput,  in  this  campaign, 

Made  himself  wiser  every  way  ; 
His  power  to  please  and  good  will  gain 

Seemed  growing  also  day  by  day. 
His  little  arts,  at  the  Twin  Lakes, 

Had  taught  him  how  to  tempt  wild  beasts, 
Till  live  snow  birds  he  charmed  like  snakes, 

And  fed  wild  foxes  at  his  feasts. 

His  bow  was  good  as  any  gun, 

Without  a  noise  its  arrows  went, 
So  that  wild  game  would  seldom  run 

Till  his  full  quiver  was  well  spent. 
And  then  his  skill  to  skin  and  dress 

The  finest  beasts  for  fur  or  meat — 
(Which  he  derived  from  dear  Piesse) — 

Made  him  a  trapper  boy  complete. 


*  See  Longfellow's  "Courtship  of  Miles  Standish.' 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  63 

He  had,  too,  prompt,  endurant  power, 
With  all  this  aptitude  of  skill,    . 

Which  saved  employers  many  an  hour 
Of  wasteful  dalliaace  of  will, 

And  though  they're  seeking  long  some  point 
For  winter  quarters  on  their  way, 

He  is  so  supple,  limb  and  joint, 

His  journeys  are  as  jaunts  and  play. 

White  River  Forks,  afar,  they  reach- 
Not  far  from  scenes  of  future  fame 

Of  sp  cial  force  as  tar  as  speech 

Makes  known  this  same  Wnite  River's  name. 

For  there  barbaric  deeds  of  blood, 

Clandestinest  of  any  clime, 
Stand  hardest  to  be  understood 

For  cold  ingratitude  and  crime  ! 
The  scenery  'round  is  simply  grand — 

Of  cliffs,  ravines,  and  diverse  wood, 
And  intervales  of  varied  land 

That  were  by  irrigation  good  : 
'Tis  here  they  build  their  winter  hut 

Of  standing  rocks,  stockade  of  poles, 
And  pine  boughs,  cut  by  Konkaput, 

Who  his  quartette  of  Utes  controls. 
Their  bed  and  board  are  of  the  best ! 

Soft  sprigs  of  spruce  on  dry  sand  spread, 
Then  moss  on  this  is  made  to  rest ; 

And  handsome  furs  from  foot  to  head. 

Their  food  is  choice  fruit  from  the  chase  ; 

And  the  Ute  boys  as  one  believe 
This  region  shall  yet  see  their  race 

Far  better  fortune  here  receive. 
[Ah  !  coming  Time's  coincidence 

Concludes  the  drama,  in  their  case,. 


64    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

For  at  the  public's  sad  expense 

They  plunged  to  ruin  in  this  place.] 

There  the  pleased  hive  of  hunters  play 
Their  winter's  work,  like  busy  bees, 

And  draw  fresh  jo}S  from  every  day 
Like  blithest  bees  in  blossomed  trees: 
They  go,  they  come,  just  as  they  please, 
On  wings  of  ease  with  naught  to  tease. 


SCENES     XVIII. 

SOME  SAD   EFFECTS   OF  SILLY   FEASTS. 

"*Tis  sometimes  said  :    <(  The  savages 

Are  wasting  by  the  white  man's  wars," 
As  if  there  were  no  ravages 

By  savage  lusts  that  leave  the  scars 
Of  suffering,  death,  sorrow  and  sin  ; 

By  trouble  brought  on  betwixt  tribes  ; 
By  wasting  foes,  without,  within  ; 

By  doctor's  bills  no  one  prescribes. 

Alas  !  and  true  !  whole  tribes  are  dead  ; 

By  their  own  blame  so  blotted  out, 
Their  names  are  only  known  and  read 

In  rivers,  towns,  lakes,  tour  or  route. 
The  social  evil,  civilized, 

And  then  let  loose  in  savage  life, 
Has  ranker  ruin  realized — 

Strange  to  say — than  savage  strife  ! 
And  the  poor  care  that  parents  keep 

Over  their  young  slays  every  year 
The  slender  part ;  so  puts  to  sleep 

Vast  numbers  that  ne'er  'waken  here. 
Then  heedless  youths  their  health  assault, 

And  strew  the  ground  with  early  graves, 
While  gluttony — their  glaring  fault — 

Brings  down  to  death  distinguished  braves. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  65 

A  common  crime,  this  want  of  care, 

That  often  loses  useful  lives, 
But  which,  siuce  practiced  everywhere, 

An  undue  sanction  thence  derives. 
Hence,  soon,  near  trappers'  hut  we  see 

Tah-Nach,  a  Ute,  "set  sail  below," 
That  is,  into  eternity  ; 

But  his  own  folly  fells  the  blow — 

A  case  we  shall  make  haste  to  show. 

The  facts  were  these  :  A  honey  bee, 

One  sunny  day,  fell  on  the  snow  : 
He  took  it  up,  simply  to  see 

Which  way  the  weak  insect  would  go, 
Then  followed,  as  it  feebly  went, 

Until  he  found  still  other  bees, 
All  settling  'neath  the  same  intent — 

To  reach  the  nearest  forest  trees. 
And  there,  on  searching,  he  soon  found, 

By  bees  still  buzzing  in  the  air, 
And  others  groaning  on  the  ground, 

Their  comb  stowed  high  wdth  studied  care. 

He  then  climbed  up  the  unclad  son 

Of  centuries,  and  clasped  a  limb, 
Which  seemed  a  most  substantial  one ; 

But  it  at  once  deserted  him; 
Then  followed  heavy  where  he  fell, 

And  brained  him,  broken  by  the  fall; 
With  no  one  near,  his  fate  to  tell, 

Or  answer  to  a  seeker's  call. 
For  days  they  missed  him  from  their  den; 

While  a  fresh  snow  concealed  his  course; 
Two  weeks  they  watched  and  waited,  when 

They  also  traced  bees  to  their  source. 
There  Kon kaput,  with  keen  surprise, 

Saw  Tah-Nach's  body,  badly  torn — 

9 


66  YOUNG   KONKAPUT,    THE}   KING   OF   UT^S. 

A  sight  so  saddening  to  his  eyes, 

It  made  his  lot  for  days  forlorn  ; 
For  the  far-off  eternity 

Seemed  nearer  now  than  e'er  had  been, 
And  he  craved  some  kind  ministry 

That  could  bring  comfort  to  him  then. 
As  he  returned  unto  his  "hive," 

To  moaning  pine  shrubs  tied  his  moose, 
And  threw  it  tufts  on  which  to  thrive, 

Then  came  into  the  warm  caboose, 
He  sighed  witfi  deep,  sad  tenderness 

For  the  gay-hearted  fellow  gone  ; 
For  Colorado  and  Piesse, 

And  for  Shawsheen — till  shadowy  dawn — 
The  dawn  that  brings  the  burial  day 

Of  his  dear  friend  whom  he  found  dead, 
In  lonely  wastes  and  far  away, 

Where  kindred  tears  can  ne'er  be  shed  ! 
It  was  a  wild,  most  wintry  morn, 

As  Konkaput,  in  his  kind  sledge, 
Led  forth  the  hunters,  all  forlorn, 

To  find  the  lad,  on  Fir  Tree  Ledge. 
And  sad  indeed  the  final  scene, 

On  this  severe  and  solemn  day, 
With  naught  their  wounded  hearts  to  screen 

From  winter's  unsheathed  sword  and  sway. 
The  trappers,  though,  are  kind  and  true  : 

Clark  has  a  prayer-book,  kept  with  care, 
And  Scott  the  Sacred  Scriptures  too, 

While  God  is  with  men  everywhere. 
Behold  them  ;  see  that  burial  scene  ! 

There  six  wild  hunters  with  sad  hands 
Bear  to  the  grave,  green  trees  between, 

The  stiffened  body :  by  it  stands 
Bach  one  last  tenderly  to  look 

Upon  the  poor  boy  buried  there, 


A  LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  67 

With  funeral  rites  read  from  "The  Book 

of  Christ"  and  "Common  Prayer." 
When  even  Christian  culture  comes, 

In  a  fierce  snow  storm's  blinding  face, 
With  tears  unto  and  from  the  tombs, 

Cold  seems  and  comfortless  the  case  ; 
Nor  would  we  blame  both  beasts  and  men, 

As  hard  of  heart,  who  hasten  home, 
When  their  sad  errand  has  so  been 

Done  tenderly  to  dead  and  tomb. 
And  when  wild  blasts  of  winter  blow, 

As  if  to  split  their  splintry  throats 
And  Wapita  *  flies  o'er  the  snow, 

Toward  the  warm  shelters  and  wild  oats, 
As  swift  as  eagles  sweep  the  air, 

Or  Borealis  darts  his  beams, 
The  fast  return  is  far  less  rare 

And  less  irreverent  than  it  seems. 
Nor  is  that  grave  unlike  all  graves 

Of  other  countries,  other  kin  ; 
Though  over  Tah-Nach  the  pine  waves 

To  mark  the  consequence  of  sin — 
Of  rashness,  without  reason,  where 

A  common  prudence  would  have  kept 
His  life  an  object  of  love's  care, 

And  health  and  honey  harvests  reapt. 
Ah  !  keenly  felt  poor  Konkaput, 

While  bending  o'er  that  snow-bound  grave, 
And  hurrying  homeward  to  his  hut, 

Where  wintery  winds  white  pine  boughs  wave  :. 
Alas !  How  lone  to  die  alone  ! 

To  see  life  leaving  o'er  the  lea  ; 
To  lie  down  dead  in  lands  unknown, 

Where  kindred  eyes  can  never  see — 

Where  pines  make  plaintive  melody  !  " 


*  The  Indian  common  name  for  elk. 


€8          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    XIX. 

THE   LEGATION   TO   SALT   LAKE. 

Often  the  Indians  end  their  days 

By  aping  like  low  whites  to  act ; 
For,  brought  into  our  brighter  ways, 

Our  virtues  less  than  vice  attract,* 
Embittering  every  high  behest, 

Binding  to  lusts  like  evil  beasts, 
To  die  accursed,  rather  than  blessed, 

Before  the  sweetest,  best  of  feasts. 
Now,  once  more  roam  to  trappers'  home. 

There  Sap-En- Ah-Wah,f  Fat  Boy's  got 
Killed  Tah-Nach's  honey  in  the  comb  ; 

And  strained  in  his  Comanche  pot, 
The  sweet,  rare  nectar  rises,  till 

It  overflows  in  floods  of  gold, 
Whence  Pursy  Boy  his  paunch  doth  fill — 

All  his  big  belly  full  can  hold. 
And  such  a  colic  as  came  on  ! 

No  Indian  doctor  e'er  did  cure  : 
'Tis  sad,  indeed,  to  look  upon  ! 

But  Guero — Light  Haired  Galen — sure 
Success  divine  is  in  his  drugs, 

Gives  him  a  potion,  bids  him  lie 
Between  a  pair  of  panther  rugs — 

But  lays  him  down,  alas,  to  die ! 
To  save  his  patient  from  his  pain 

He  poured  his  strongest  opiate 
Upon  the  heavy  honey  strain, 

And  found  quite  soon,  but  quite  too  late, 


*  Brig.  Gen.  Wright's  report  to  a  cominittee  of  Congress 
says :  "The  Indian  tribes  are  rapidly  decreasing  by  wars  among 
themselves,  encroachments  by  the  whites  and  the  readiness 
with  which  they  adopt  the  vices  of  the  whites  rather  than  their 
virtues." 

f  Sap-En-Ah-Wah  means  big  belly  or  pursy  boy,  and  was  a 
genuine  name  among  the  Utes,  with  the  whole  idea  that  it  sug- 
gests. 


A   IvEGKND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 

The  good  boy  ne'er  will  wake  again  ! 

The  sure  physician  sealed  his  fate  : 
Sheer  ignorance  the  Ute  has  slain  ; 

And  he  is  buried  by  his  mate. 
Then  Konkaput,  to  his  surprise, 

Is  urged  "  Make  haste,  harness  your  moose,. 
Go  to  Salt  Lake  to  get  supplies. 

And  seek  a  doctor  of  some  use  !  " 
Most  gravely  Trapper  Scott  agrees 

To  share  with  him  the  uushown  way; 
And  tracing  streams,  trails,  blistered  trees, 

They  drive  their  way  without  delay. 
They  reach  at  length  the  royal  lake 

Of  the  young  brigand,  Brigham  Young  ; 
Then  very  full  invoices  take 

Till  even  the  moose  with  bells  is  strung. 
Pack-mules  they  purchase  :  Pangentwa, 

Or  Little  Fish,  as  Light  Hair's  aid, 
Goes  a  learned  doctor  from  Utah 

To  practice  for  their  peltry  trade. 
This  Minnow  is  a  Mormon  Ute  ; 

Doctor  and  bishop,  both  betimes, 
Whose  sage-like  tones  and  looks  to  suit, 

And  crude  ideas  of  Christ  and  crimes, 
With  proofs  profuse  of  promised  fruit, 

Makes  Scott  with  quaint  surmise  inquire 
If  Utah  is  derived  from  Ute, 

Why  Mormon  might  not  be  his  sire ! 

The  trio  now  return  their  tramp, 

Steering  their  course  in  complete  style 
Of  mutual  couriers  toward  their  camp — 

Which  Clark  and  Guero  moved  meanwhile 
To  Trapper's  Lake,  near  Plateau  Peak, 

Where  game  both  good  and  tame  abound, 
And  peaks  to  lakes  incessant  speak — 

A  happy  Indian  hunting  ground  ! 


70    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

When  Scott,  Pangentwa,  Koukaput, 

Approached  at  last  their  trapping  post, 
And  hailed  the  (then  deserted)  hut. 

But  failed  to  find  therein  "  mine  host," 
A  sense  of  desolation,  death, 

And  fear,  fell  on  them  all  fatigued, 
And  way-worn  and  half  out  of  breath, 

For  it  had  been  indeed  besieged. 

They  soon  beheld  the  place  bereft 

Of  all  things  ;  but  they  saw  a  stone 
Inscribed,  declaring  when  Clark  left, 

And  where,  and  why  they'd  gone  ; 
And  how  the  way  hither  to  heed, 

With  cautions  suited  to  their  case — 
A  note  most  kind  to  men  in  need, 

Whose  true  import  we  herewith  trace. 
It  said :  "  Friend  Scott,  we  are  not  safe  ! 

A  strange  and  scarey  straggling  scout 
Has  wandered  daily  like  a  waif 

Of  wind,  about  to  find  us  out, 

Or,  if  we  leave,  to  learn  our  route  ! 
He  Is  a  wild  man  of  the  wood, 

That  wanders  here,  then  wanders  there  ; 
That  feeds  on  nothing  for  his  food, 

And  seems  almost  as  thin  as  air — 

I  beg  you  heed  :  of  him  beware  ! 
We  start  now  (in  a  noble  storm 

To  hide  from  him  our  hurried  tracks), 
For  Trapper's  Fort,  fixed  nice  and  warm, 

With  bulky  burdens  on  our  backs, 

And  bear  in  hand  both  gun  and  ax. 
If  he  should  not  to  others  show 

That  we've  departed,  for  one  day, 
They  will  not  know  the  way  we  go  ; 

But  we  will  beckon  you  the  way, 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  71 

By  sticks  stuck  standing  in  the  snow, 

By  which  our  way  you'll  know,  then  join  us  too." 
Scott  scarcely  read  aloud  these  lines, 

When  ' '  the  strange  scout ' '  came  straggling  by, 
And  to  the  White  man's  face  confines 

The  fiercest  aspect  of  his  eye, 
Then  at  his  breast  he  draws  the  bead 

Of  his  gun  barrel — given  with  bread 
By  Government — and  Scott  indeed 

Drops  to  the  earth — instantly  dead  ! 


Then  Konkaput's  friend  Pangentwa, 

Returns  the  fire  with  fatal  aim  ; 
And  two  dead  men  on  drays,  they  draw 

Toward  the  fort  that  Clark  did  name  : 
Remembering  what  Scott  had  read, 

And  eager  to  secure  safe  rest, 
Their  lonely  way,  by  signs  well  led, 

They  with  fast  progress  firmly  pressed. 


72    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 


XX. 

THE   RECEPTION   AND   REPORT. 

'Twas  in  a  starless  night  of  storm, 

And  at  a  late  and  lonely  hour, 
They  waked  the  fort,  and  found  a  warm 

Abode,  as  if  a  summer  bower 
Of  evergreen:  —  grass  and  wild  rye 

Were  given  their  patient,  meek  pack-mules, 
All  stowed  between  walls  built  so  high  — 

There  solitude  in  silence  rules. 

The  inmates,  a  few  weary  men, 

Had  all  been  tramping  from  their  traps, 
And  were  absorbed  in  slumbers,  when, 

These  new  arrivals  made  their  raps 
Upon  the  gate  ;  but  Guero  gave 

Them  entre  with  attentive  heeds  ; 
As  a  bright  Ute,  both  young  and  brave, 

Provided  for  their  pressing  needs 

And  spread  them  beds  on  springs  of  reeds. 
The  morning  dawned  most  calm  and  bright 

Upon  the  "  Fort  at  Trappers's  ^ake  ;  " 
When  Konkaput,  with  sad  delight, 

To  the  few  inmates  thus  did  break 
The  several  acts  and  earnest  scenes 

Through  which  poor  Scott  and  he  had  passed, 
And  what  their  mission  really  means  ; 

Their  fears  and  labors,  first  and  last. 

He  says  :     <l  Guero,  and  good  friend  Clark, 

And  ye  who  have  me  as  your  guest, 
You  see  both  Scott  and  I  embark 

In  a  wise  expedition  west  : 
We  went  the  trodden  winding  trail, 

Where  rivers  bend  and  rocks  abound, 
And  prowling  men  and  beasts  prevail  — 

Our  life  seemed  lurked  for  all  around. 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.          73 

By  a  long  march  at  length  we  reached 

The  chosen  city  of  Chief  Young, 
Where  Pangentwa,  his  priest,  hath  preached 

To  savages,  and  prayed  and  sung ; 
He  will  assist  me  to  describe 

The  various  wonders  in  our  way, 
For  he  is  traced  from  our  Ute  tribe, 

And  will  be  true  in  all  we  say. 

From  Salt  Lake  City  we  sent  furs 

Addressed  to  some  far  eastern  firms  ; 
All  in  exchange,  as  oft  occurs, 

And  buying  goods  on  the  best  terms. 
For  health  supplies  friend  Scott  first  sought,. 

And  labeled  well,  as  you  will  learn, 
All  the  best  comforts.     He  then  bought 

Rare  beasts  to  bear  them  in  return  ; 
Each  burro  hath  its  burden  brought. 

These  patient  beasts  that  bore  our  packs 

And  passed  along  from  post  to  post, 
With  bags  and  boxes  on  their  backs, 

Helped  us  so  much,  but  my  elk  most ; 
For  he  was  unworn  in  the  way, 

And  could  have  gone  at  greatest  speed, 
But  he  fell  dead  at  break  of  day — 

One  homeward  dawn — a  hunter's  deed  ! 
In  route  we  stopped  one  time  to  rest, 

Where  a  lone  white  man  had  been  left 
By  wanderers  that  went  still  west ; 

We  judged  him  of  all  joy  bereft ! 
He  lingered  by  two  graves,  alone  ; 

His  wife  and  daughter  lay  there  dead  ; 
He  lifted  up  a  long,  flat  stone 

Upon  these  graves,  just  at  their  head  ; 
Then  sat  he  there,  so  sad  of  heart ! 

The  day  was  light ;  his  lot  was  dark  ! 


74    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

He  yearned  to  stay,  and  yet  must  start 
And  leave  that  stone  the  grave  to  mark  ! 

Another  point  we  passed  a  spot 

Where  three  more  emigrants,  thrown  dead 

Into  the  brush,  had  all  been  shot 

By  fiends  in  flesh,  who  filched  and  fled ! 

At  last  we  reached  White  River  Fork, 

And  felt  refreshed  to  find  us  near 
The  mark  of  our  first  winter- work  ; 

Then  chanted  there  our  wildest  cheer ! 
So  loud  this  hunter  doubtless  heard 

And  planted  himself  at  the  place, 
Yet  would  not  answer  us  a  word, 

But  fiercely  saw  the  white  man's  face — 

As  if  he  hated  all  his  race  ! 
He  fired  one  shot,  and  Scott  fell  dead  ! 

This  shocked  my  nerves  as  ne'er  was  known ; 
For  I  was  bound,  benumbed  with  dread : 

Scott's  life  was  scarce  else  than  my  own. 
Just  then,  Paugentwa  showed  his  power, 

And  jumped  so  quickly  to  my  side 
That  in  my  sad  and  sinking  hour 

He  shot  for  good  "the  Shoshone  guide." 

[Aye,  such,  I'm  bound,  will  prove  to  be 
The  body  we  have  brought  along, 

Which  Poisson*  there  most  pointedly 

Did  put  to  death  to  right  Scott's  wrong.] 

This  precious  judge,  Priest  Pangentwa, 
Who  has  come  here  with  me,  so  kind, 

Is  a  learned  doctor  from  Utah, 

Whose  medicine  is  in  his  mind — 
His  word's  full  wise,  as  all  will  find." 


*  Poisson  is  French  for  fish,  which  Petit  had  taught  to  Kon- 
kaput,  and  it  means  the  same  as  Pangentwa  in  Ute.  Perhaps 
Pencher  were  nearer  what  Konkaput  meant. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  75 

SCENES    XXI. 

DISCOVERY,    DISTRESS,   DESOLATION:    THE  INDIAN   HAD 
KILLED   ANOTHER   UTE. 

King  Konkaput's  account — his  style 

And  voice,  both  limpid,  bold  and  low — 
Touched  the  alternate  tear  and  smile, 

And,  though  his  English  was  yet  slow. 
He  mingled  grief  and  joy  the  while. 
Then  Pangentwa — thus  put  in  place — 

Described  with  care  the  closing  day, 
And  the  appearance  of  the  face 

That  they  had  brought  their  burdened  way, 

And  there  with  Scott  in  silence  lay. 
Then,  too,  with  sad  and  solemn  tone — 

All  Mormon  ministers  must  use — 
He  next  made  other  matters  known 

Which  might  their  minds  thus  disabuse, 

Their  seeming  murder  to  excuse. 
They  searched  the  murdered  scout,  and  found 

That  he  was  a  Ute  sentinel, 
Who  had  been  set  to  guard  the  ground, 

And  only  wished  to  do  it  well ; 
Presuming  these  were  some  outpost, 

Preparing  white  men  to  possess 
The  mountains  with  a  mighty  host, 

He  wished  to  hold  them  in  duress. 
His  gun  they  found  got  at  some  fight 

In  a  deep  canon,  like  Cheyenne, 
While  on  his  arm,  in  black  and  white, 

Were  signs  which  showed  where  he  had  been. 
This  strange  discovery  caused  distress 

To  Konkaput,  beyond  compare  : — 
"He  must  have  seen  Shawsheen,  Piesse," 

He  said,  "  and  felt  my  father's  care  !  " 
He  bent,  and  clasped  the  clammy  corse, 

As  if  to  bid  the  body  speak, 


76          YOUNG    KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF 

And  tell  of  home  for  weal  or  worse ; 

But  none  could  the  dead  silence  break. 
Then  Guero  gave  out  pitying  groans, 

As  if  his  brother's  grave  were  near; 
Thence  mountains  echo  with  their  moans, 

And  pass  them  on  from  year  to  year. 
Then  Saxon  Clark  to  Scott's  corpse  clung, 

With  a  deep  anguish  unto  death  ; 
His  hardy  nerves  seemed  half  unstrung 

With  broken  sighs,  warm  as  his  breath, 
And  hidden  groans,  and  hoarded  grief, 

That  filled  his  cup  full  to  the  brim, 
Till  in  his  faith  he  found  relief, 

And  learned  by  heart  this  funeral  hymn  : 

THE   TRAPPERS'  TRUST — CLARK'S   FUNERAL   HYMN   FOR  SCOTT. 

Almighty  God,  in  whom  we  live 

And  move  and  all  our  being  have  ; 
Our  murmuring  grief  do  thou  forgive, 
And  help  us  for  thyself  to  live, 

And  grant  us  grace  for  even  the  grave. 

We  bury  now  beneath  the  ground 

The  lifeless  bodies  thou  hast  made, 
And  in  this  wilderness  profound, 
Where  loneliness  and  death  abound, 
We  beg  thy  pity  and  thine  aid  ! 

For  the  dear  kindred  of  the  dead, 

Severed  so  long,  so  far  away, 
Who  know  not  of  this  lowly  bed 
Where  now  we  lay  their  weary  head, 
Thy  presence,  too,  we  pray. 

When  thou  shalt  bid  the  dead  come  forth, 

From  every  mountain,  plain  and  sea, 
From  the  far  west,  east,  south  and  north. 
From  all  their  graves  in  all  the  earth, 
Remember  this  in  thy  decree. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN    LAKES. 

So  lone  the  scene  at  Trappers'  Lake  ! 

So  lone  the  ones  upon  the  plain 
When  Clark  and  Konkaput  did  make 

The  tombs  for  Scott  and  Ute  scout  slain  ; 
And  when,  in  the  forementioned  case, 

Were  met  the  emigration  train 
Burying  their  dead  in  a  lone  place, 

Where  the  remains  unknown  remain  ! 


Ah  !  so  like  one  lost  off  at  sea, 
Afar,  upon  the  trackless  main, 

The  trapper's  funeral  must  be  ! 

And  such,  when  passing  o'er  the  plain, 

An  emigrant  gives  out  to  die  ; 

The  wife,  or  daughter,  son  or  sire, 

Falls  far  away,  forgot,  to  lie 

On  the  lone  spot  where  they  expire, 
With  none  to  watch  the  signal  fire  ! 


78          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    XXII. 

WILD   INSTINCTS  ARE  WELL  TAMED  TO  TEAMS — HE    DRIVES 
FOUR   SPANKING   DEER  IN  SPANS. 

How  Konkaput  had  lost  his  moose  ! 

On  their  return,  one  frosty  morn, 
When  the  large  beast  was  browsing  loose 

On  moss  and  cones,  instead  of  corn, 
A  gunning  Pa-Ute  took  good  aim, 

And,  proud  as  any  Indian  prince, 
Felled  the  good  mark  as  mortal  game — 

And  claimed  the  proceeds  ever  since  ! 


This  evil  luck  were  an  ill  loss, 

To  Konkaput  and  to  mankind, 
Had  not  his  cunning  come  across 

More  flexile  beasts  to  fill  his  mind. 
The  furriers,  found  at  Trappers'  Fort — 

Facetious  fellows,  four  or  five — 
Perceived  from  the  young  Ute's  report 

His  best  delight  such  beasts  to  drive. 
So,  as  true  men — not  triflers  all — 

They  counseled  him  to  seek  and  catch 
Some  stalwart  deer,  and  in  their  stall 

To  make  these  into  teams  to  match. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  79 

They  state  that  he  can  catch  some  stags, 

Much  as  he  caught  his  late  killed  moose, 
By  basking  in  some  buckskin  bags 

And  tossing  'round  their  necks  a  noose  ; 
That  spans  of  elk  have  special  use, 

In  parts  that  need  their  nobler  powers, 
Which  meekly  bear  even  much  abuse 

And  move  on  ably  many  hours ; 
But  black-tailed  *  bucks,  led  out  with  bells, 

And  on  the  plan  of  span  with  span  ! 
"  A  dashing  four,"  driven  down  the  dells, 

Were  the  delight  of  any  man  ! 
"So,  'Konkey,'  catch  them  if  you  can  !" 

This  pleased  him  well ; 

and  right  away 
He  captured  four, 
which  he  controls 

And  drives  with  dray, 

or  sledge-like  sleigh, 
Made  of  a  pair 

of  willow  poles, 
Well  rigged  for  warmth 

and  ease  to  ride, 
With  robes  and  wraps 

for  winter  trips, 
And  harness  made 

of  handsome  hide, 
Arranged  in  straight 

and  even  strips. 
With  this  "get-up,"  so  good  and  gay, 
Of  bucks  and  bells  and  bison  robe, 
Of  willow  sledge — or  winged  sleigh — 
He  is  the  gladdest  on  the  globe. 


*  The  black -tailed  deer  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  more 
majestic  even  than  the  wapiti,  or  Carolina  stag. 


SO    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

He  tamed  these  deer  in  ten  days'  lime, 

And  won  them  in  his  winning  ways, 
Till  they  present  appearance  prime, 

And  sliding  swift,  seem  strings  of  sleighs- 
[Just  as  one's  hand  may  swing  his  torch 

Into  a  fairy  ring  of  fire, 
And  rain  drops  leave  their  beauteous  arch 

When  heaviest  storms  hasting  retire.] 

NOW   SEE   THE   TEAM,    SO   NEAR   THEY   SEEM  ! 

Boys  could  not  run-  to  catch  a  ride 

Behind  this  black-tail  team  of  four, 
When  they  dash  up  the  mountain's  side, 

As  if  we  ne'er  should  see  them  more  ! 
A  stage  drawn  by  such  driven  stags, 

And  made  both  light  and  bright  to  match, 
Might  climb  the  very  mountain  crags 

And   prove  too  much  for  thieves  to  catch  ; 
And  yet  as  grand,  as  swift  and  gay  ; 

So  cheery  to  both  man  and  child, 
That  they'd  be  pleased  "  to  plank  the  pay  " 

To  go  in  ways  so  good  and  wild. 
Now  adown  the  dells,  the  night  deer  bells, 

I  almost  hear,  and  see  the  deer, 
And  by  the  sight  my  bosom  swells, 
As  deer  and  bells  dash  down  the  dells, 

And  in  my  ear  the  sounds  I  hear. 
Iwike  rattling  wheels,  or  runner  steels, 

As  swift  they  go  o'er  ground  and  snow, 
My  finest  sense  sees,  hears,  and  feels, 
As  music  steals  in  vesper  peals, 

Through  falling  snow  and  fancy's  flow. 
'Tis  Konkaput,  o'er  rock  and  rut, 

Sweeping  his  sleigh,  like  swiftest  spray  ! 
I  wish  I  might  jump  in  and  ride, 
Yet  press  aside  with  praise  and  pride  ; 

And  shout :  Hurra  !   Ho  !   Dash  away  ! 


82          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,    THE   KING   OF   UTKS. 

O'er  heights  and  snows,  away  he  goes, 

Nor  leaves  a  track  to  lead  him  back  ; 
And  who  can  guess,  or  who  that  knows 
How  fast  he  goes  o'er  heights  and  snows, 

Could  find  way  back  without  the  track. 
It  seems  full  long  since  with  his  song 

His  sleigh-bells  rung  out  as  he  sung, 
And  on  the  height  in  starry  night, 
Now  flying  left,  now  flying  right, 

His  last  glimpse  flung  where  evening  hung  ! 
But  lo  !   They're  come  !   with  sleigh-bells  home  ! 

Oh  haste  with  glee,  now,  there,  to  see  ; 
And  fill  the  hut  of  Konkaput, 
Or  Pelty  Fort,  with  praise  and  sport, 

And  shout  and  sing  :  Long  live  the  King  ! 

The  deer-bells  ring  :  Konkaput  is  King  ! 

"Konkey  "  is  King,  all  cry  and  sing  ! 

Pray,  let  us  ask,  at  this  late  day, 

If  there  be  here  not  something  new  : 
Why  murder  beasts  made  to  obey, 

Which,  treated  well,  were  servants  true  ? 
Suppose  the  bisons  be  well  trained  ; 

Then — built  in  every  bone  for  strength — 
They'd  make  a  team  not  much  ashamed, 

For  either  loads,  or  journey's  length. 
The  mountain  elk,  majestic  deer, 

And  bison,  like  the  horse  and  ox, 
May  all  be  changed,  mankind  to  cheer — 

For  dogs*  and  cats,  coyotes  and  fox — 
The  wolf,  well  pleased,  the  Ute  employs 

As  even  a  patient,  loving  pet ; 
And,  like  the  dog,  it  long  enjoys 

Kind  friends,  and  never  can  forget. 
If  even  gray  wolves,  like  the  greyhound, 

Have  proven  docile,  dutiful, 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.          83 

Why  may  not  many  beasts  be  found 

Which  can  be  "broke"  and  beautiful? 
If  Signor  Blitz's  birds  obeyed 

His  bland  behest,  whate'er  he  said, 
So  that  they  well  the  warrior  played, 

The  cannon  fired,  and  then  feigned  dead, 
Be  even  bald  eagles  bred  to  use  ; 

To  bear  us  up  on  buoyant  air, 


Or  take  a  treaty  or  a  truce, 

Upon  their  wings,  to  seats  of  war. 

How  useful  then  that  ancient  bird, 
How  like  the  hurried  lightning  he  ; 

His  life  the  servant,  sign  and  lord, 
O'er  land  and  sea,  of  liberty  ! — 
When  such  are  trained,  be  there  to  see. 


••84          YOUNG  KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTKS. 

SCENES    XXIII. 

FROM  TRAPPER'S  LAKE  TO  EAGLE'S  GLEN. 
When  Konkaput  cut  to  and  fro 

Across  the  mountains,  hills  and  pl-aius, 
O'er  crystal  lakes  and  crested  snow, 

And  searched  for  Utes  as  well  as  gains, 
He  drove  as  fast  as  he  could  drive  ; 

His  form  wras  wrapt  in  finest  fur  ; 
A  charmed  life  he  seemed  to  live  ; 

He  went  a  wizard,  as  it  were, 
And  when  the  winter  warmish  grows, 

And  they  would  gather  up  their  store, 
All  note  how  Konkaput  well  knows 

Each  bundle  he  had  bound  before. 
His  versatility,  so  vast, 

Adapted  to  employers'  need, 
Was  leading,  from  the  first  to  last, 

And  always  marked  with  special  speed. 
With  Clark  he  wrent  close  by  each  stream, 

From  Cache  le  Poudre — "Hidden  Powder' 
To  the  dry  "  Fountain's  "  fairy  dream, 

And  with  him  ate  fish,  flesh  and  chowder. 
Here  first  he  met  John  Charles  Fremont, 

And  brave  Kit  Carson,  then  both  young, 
And  found  for  them  the  "Soda  Font," 

Whence  Villa  Manitou  hath  sprung. 
And  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che,  (Taken  Down), 

By  deaths,  desertions,  left  alone, 
Had  joined  "The  Path-Finder's"  renown — 

With  him  come  down  from  Yellowstone. 
Though  Kah  Ni-Ah-Che  had  now  learned 

Some  word  of  the  Apache  war, 
And  its  hot  burden  in  him  burned, 

He  would  not  his  friend's  pleasure  mar. 
So,  with  his  sorrows  well  suppressed 

He  Konkaput  embraces  warm, 


A  I,EGI$ND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  85- 

And  wishes  him,  with  all  the  rest, 

By  the  Great  Spirit  saved  from  harm  ! 
Never  to  feel  or  know  a  fear  ; 

But,  born  a  King,  to  bear  command 
In  ways  successful  and  sincere — 

By  nature  gifted,  noble,  grand  ! 
'Tis  in  Glen  Eyrie  where  they  meet : 

Here  all  the  outside  world  seems  shut 
From  the  recherche,  rare  retreat, 

Save  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che  and  Konkaput ; 
While  cliffs  look  down  and  timber  waves, 

And  brooks  refresh  both  beasts  and  birds. 
Here  meet  and  greet  these  two  Ute  braves 

With  warm  embrace  and  broken  words. 
This  ardent  greeting  of  these  Utes, 

So  suited,  eloquent,  sincere, 
Once  more  the  fancy  fond  refutes 

That  "Indian  men  ne'er  shed  a  tear!  " 
And  all  the  more  since  the  Stone  Chief 

There  stands,  a  Roman,  in  his  robe, 
Before  his  squaw,  who  sits  in  grief, 

Yet  patient  as  a  very  Job. 
Here  Kah-Ni-Ah-Che,  cherishing 

His  fears,  his  hopes,  his  memories, 
Calls  these  stones  "  Our  Statued  King, 

And  Queen  Piesse,  so  posed  as  his  ! ' ' 
As  Konkaput  compares  the  form, 

So  tall,  majestic  in  his  might, 
In  winter,  summer,  sun  and  storm, 

He  thus  declaims  his  high  delight : 


86          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    XXIV. 

KONKAPUT'S   ODE  TO  THE   OLD   STONE   KING. 

*l Grand  Sentinel  of  this  sweet  glen, 
That  risest  to  thy  royal  height, 
And  gravely  girdest  on  thy  might 
As  monarch  of  both  beasts  and  men, 
I  thank  thee  for  inspiring  thought 

Of  him  who  stands  of  Utes  the  King, 
Of  whom  his  son  with  pride  doth  sing, 
And  her  who  hath  my  footsteps  taught. 

O,  glorious  porter  of  the  glade, 

And  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  range, 
Almost  defying  time  and  change, 

Of  during  rock  divinely  made, 

How  grandly  dost  thou  stand,  adored 
By  her  who  waiteth  on  thy  will, 
To  help  thy  mission  to  fulfill, 

As  if  thou  wert  her  King  and  Lord. 

"Thou  standest  straight  and  tall  and  .grand, 
As  if  aware  of  strength  and  worth, 
An  ordained  ruler  in  the  earth, 

Born  to  encourage  and  command  ! 

I  look  on  thee  with  love  and  awe ; 
I  marvel  at  thy  majesty  ; 
Equalled  but  by  the  modesty 

Of  her  who  sits  down  as  thy  squaw 

And  looketh  up  to  thee  as  thine 
To  love  and  cherish  and  obey, 
And  bear  thee  aid  in  every  way — 

Such  are  the  parents  I  call  mine  ! 

To  them  I  haste  with  all  my  heart ; 
In  filial  love  a  loyal  son  ; 
For  soon  my  wanderings  will  be  done  ; 

And  from  them  then  I'11-ne'er  depart! " 


OLD   STONE   KING. 
(From  Photo.  '73.) 


88          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING;  OF   UTE)S. 


THE   DEVOUT   YOUNG   MAID   IN   THE    GARDENJDF 

Then  to  the  "Garden  of  the  Gods" 

They  turn,  aiid  see  stand  on  his  tail 
A  seal,  noting  a  maid  who  nods 

And  kneels  —  no  nun  with  hood  and  vail,  — 
But  Queen  Shawsheen  seemed  sitting  there, 

So  lovely  and  so  lifelike  too, 
So  prone  and  praying  in  her  prayer 

To  know  of  one  she  loved  and  knew. 
There  in  the  "Gateway"  toward  Pike's  Peak 

They  also  see  in  bas  relief, 
A  lion,  and  "The  Spires"  that  speak 

Of  God  and  heaven  in  our  belief. 

Thence  they  saw  an  eagle  soar, 

Which  lifts  their  longings  to  ascend, 
That  they,  too,  eye  the  mountains  o'er, 

So  thither  up  Pike's  Peak  they  tend, 
Until,  in  landscapes  round  them  laid, 

They  see  the  seasons  all  set  forth 
From  Pensacola's  promenade 

To  frigid  snow  fields  of  the  North. 

They  said  :  This  scene  a  world  is  worth  ! 
This  glorious  land  that  gave  us  birth. 
Then  they  retraced  their  mountain  tracks 

And  down  the  canons  daring  came, 
With  easy  burdens  on  their  backs, 

And  faces  flushed  with  wind  and  flame. 
For  he  who'd  have  the  hue  of  health 

Upon  his  cheeks,  and  tingling  there, 
Should  see  the  world  in  all  its  wealth, 

From  snow-clad  peaks  in  thin,  clear  air; 

Then  clamber  down  with  clumsy  care. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 
SCENES    XXV. 

FROM   PEAKS   TO   GLENS,    AND   BATTLE   SCENES. 

They  wandered  then  to  Rainbow  Glen, 
To  see  the  beauties  of  the  bow, 

Admired  so  much  by  other  men; 

They  saw  the  bow  as  white  as  snow, 


89 


While  voices,  set  to  vernal  song, 
Echo  their  accents  on  the  ear, 
And  leap  with  live  impulse  along, 
As  if  they,  too,  were  glad  to  hear. 


YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 


In  Cheyenne  Canon  next  they  sat, 

And  watched  the  woman  weep,  in  white. 

As  if  she  mourned  the  murderous  fate 
Of  those  who  fell  in  the  late  fight. 

Or  constant  for  the  sea  she  calls  ; 

Sometimes  sits  lone  the  season  long, 

And  dictates  to  the  canon  walls 
The  diapason  of  her  song — 
This  woman  of  "Seven  Water  Falls  :" 

She's  like  the  "  Bride  of  L,ake  Brientz," 
The  brook  that  waits  her  lord's  embrace 
To  kiss  the  fair  lake's  constant  face, 

Yet  onward  hurries  ever  hence. 

They  then  went  down  this  wondrous  glen, 
Till,  looking  toward  the  distant  plain, 

They  marked  the  bleaching  bones  of  men — 
Where  the  Apache  hosts  were  slain. 


Here,  at  this  sight, 

Kah-Ni-Ah-Che 
Told  Konkaput, 

with  comely  grief, 
Of  the  late  war- 
its  history, 
And  how  the  Utes 

had  lost  their  Chief! 
The  Prince,  with  weapons 

in  his  hand, 
Stood  awed  and  speechless 

with  bowed  head  ; 
Then,  each  emotion 

in  command, 
He  to  himself,  half 
silent,  said  : 


"O,  precious  parent!  all  my  pride  ! 

Who  wast  of  me  so  warmly  proud  ; 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  91 

For  thee  I  would  have  fondly  died  ! ' ' 
And  then  and  thus  he  wept  aloud  : 

;  Oh  !  but  art  thou  dead  ?   Who  knows,  indeed  ! 
Thou  wouldst  have  sought  and  sent  for  me, 


THE   WOMAN   OF   SEVEN  WATER   FALLS. 
(From  Photo,  by  Collier,  1873.) 

If  living  now,  in  luck  or  need. 

So  thou  art  dead?   Nay,  it  can't  be  ! 
King  Colorado  could  not  die 

Without  the  mountains  weep  and  mourn 


92    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UT£S. 

These  stony  cliffs  standing  so  high, 

The  earth  and  sky,  were  then  forlorn  ! 
My  duty,  therefore,  is  defined  ; 

I'll  seek  my  parents  and  Shawsheen  ! 
If  they  are  safe,  so  is  my  mind  ; 

I'll  see  right  soon  what  may  be  seen.'* 
Yes,  such  the  soul  of  this  sage  youth, 

His  filial  duties  first  to  feel, 
Then  trial  of  his  heathen  troth — 

Kind  nerves  of  steel  he  can  reveal. 

Guero,  Pangentwa  and  their  Chief 

Are  on  their  way,  in  one  short  hour, 
To  learn — what  staggers  their  belief — 

The  impotence  of  the  Ute  power, 
Shawsheen's  sad  capture  by  the  Sioux, 

The  deaths  of  Coloro  and  Piesse — 
On  knowing  all  this  awful  news 

The  Prince  has  strength  like  his  distress  I 

He  sped  first  to  Nevava  Spring ; 

Then  sought  his  father's  final  scene, 
And  then  the  grave  of  the.  grand  King, 

(The  bravest  brave)  embanked  between 

Twin  Lakes,  where  his  loved  infancy 
Used  radiate,  and  learned  to  roam  ; 

There  fragrant  wilds  still  furnished  free 
Inhalements  from  his  early  home, 

But  grief  more  grew  as  memory  ! 
There,  by  King  Colorado's  grave 

He  longed  to  see  Piesse,  likewise, 
Where  rocks  still  wait  and  wild  pines  wave, 

And  haloes  hover  in  the  skies. 
There  'mid  lone  scenes  he  sat  alone, 

And  wished  no  comrade  to  come  near ; 
Yet  a  few  tents  there  heard  his  moan, 

And  these  the  heartfelt  sighs  they  hear  : 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  93 

KONKAPUT'S  APOSTROPHE  AT  HIS  PARENTS'   TOMB. 

Brave  King  of  Utes !  One  by  thee  bred 
Here  lays  his  head  upon  thy  bed, 
In  pain  for  each  departed  joy, 
Where  he  was  once  thy  happy  boy  ! 
I  sigh  just  where  I  used  to  sing, 
And  called  my  sire  both  sage  and  King ; 
I  bow  oppressed  beneath  the  rod 
Of  Senoblaze,  our  sovereign  God  ! 

O,  quiet  parent,  Queen  Piesse, 

So  true  in  all  thy  trustfulness, 

Who  sharedst  distress  with  my  distress, 

Whom  loyal  Utes  all  loved  to  bless, 

King  Colorado's  comely  Queen, 

With  softest  heart  earth's  sons  have  seen, 

Yet  too  maternal  to  be  mean  ; 

Thy  grand  affection's  fresh  and  green  ! 

O,  would  that  Shawsheen  here  were  laid ; 
My  dear,  my  modest,  dusky  maid  ; 
That  by  thy  side,  her  form  secure 
From  cruel  acts  and  crimes  impure, 
With  sacred  rest  and  safety  blessed, 
By  none  disturbed,  by  none  distressed, 
Might  lay  her  head  beside  thy  bed, 
Her  form  for  ave  unravished  ! 


94          YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTKS. 
SCENES    XXVI. 

THE  PLAN  OF  SEARCH  FOR  POOR  SHAWSHEEN. 

At  the  Twin  Lakes  he  met  his  braves, 

Rehearsed  to  them  their  rights  and  wrongs 
And  pointing  to  his  parents'  graves, 

Their  hapless  sisters  held  in  thongs, 
Then  placed  before  them  his  bold  plan — 

To  find  and  fetch  back,  if  they  could, 
The  maids,  each  by  a  single  man, 

With  stated  means,  well  understood. 
He  plans  at  once  both  war  and  peace*: 

Let  peace  lead  to  preserve  alive 
Our  loved  ones  whom  we  would  release ; 

But  if  this  fail,  then  I  would  drive 
The  fiercest  war,  with  fury  wild, 

Till  fighting,  conquer  every  foe  ; 
And  catch  and  cheer  each  captive  child, 

And  fetch  our  women  from  their  woe. 
"Arrow,  Pangentwa,  and  Guero, 

Fly  each,"  he  says,  "pursue  the  trail ! 
Aye,  hither,  thither,  hurrying  go 

To  find  some  trail — and  without  fail 
To  both  the  captives  and  the  crown  ! 

And  this  I  pledge :  Who  best  succeeds 
Shall  share  Shawsheen's  and  my  renown, 

And  henceforth  my  first  cohorts  leads.'* 
But  the  young  King,  with  youthful  guise 

And  special  fitness  for  a  spy, 
Resolves  to  rescue,  as  his  prize, 

Shawsheen,  or  in  the  effort  die ! 
He  fancies  he  can  find  the  foe, 

And  be  a  Bannock  boy  astray, 
In  a  disguise  no  one  would  know, 

Till  he  will  bear  his  bride  away. 
With  English,  French,  Bannock,  Shoshone> 

Cheyenne,  Apache,  Navajo, 


96    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTRS. 

As  dialects,  used  like  his  own, 

He  might  be  <—  an  Atfapahpe 

Well  feign  himself,  friend,  foe,  at  will, 

Feel  self  possessed  at  savage  feasts, 
Nor  scarce  exhaust  his  easy  skill 

That  was  termed  best  in  taming  beasts, 
But  now  would  serve  him  better  still. 

To  this  the  council  thus  assent : 
They  bind  themselves  in  brotherhood  ; 

And  forthwith  warriors  fearless  went 
To  bring  back  all  their  stolen  brood, 

Or  have  a  war  of  vast  extent. 
As  planned,  the  King,  in  costume  plain, 

Brought  from  the  scenes  where  he  was  borii, 
Passed  quickly  where  ' '  Coloro ' '  was  slain, 

And  whence  Shawsheen  herself  was  torn 
And  carried  to  captivity  : 

Then  he  renewed  his  resolve  there 
To  lead  his  maid  to  liberty, 

Or  die  at  last  in  lone  despair  I 


XXVII. 

THE   YOUNG   KING  SETS   OUT   ON   HIS  SEARCH. 

He  hastened  thence  down  from  the  height, 

And  hurried  out  upon  the  plain, 
In  a  poor  Bannock's  piteous  plight, 

With  broken  heart  and  harrowed  brain  ; 
With  bow  and  arrows  badly  worn, 

With  leggings,  shreds  of  leather  string, 
And  looks  so  abject  and  forlorn, 

No  Ute  could  thus  have  known  his  King. 
A  tepee  of  Arapahoes, 

Where  Denver  is,  he  reached  one  even, 
But  of  Ute  Squaws  no  inmate  knows, 

Though  guileful  answers  are  him  given  ; 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  97 

Until,  as  a  stray  Bannock  boy, 

He  tells  of  torrents,  rivers,  rocks, 
And  how  that  tribe  their  time  employ  ; 

Then  they  beg  news  from  the  Bannocks. 
The  women,  too,  of  this  tepee, 

I/ook  wondering  round  the  way-worn  ladv 
Beseeching  who  the  boy  can  be, 

Also  what  makes  his  mien  so  sad  ; 
But,  of  them  all,  no  one  has  seen 

A  Bannock  or  a  Ute  young  maid ; 
So,  surely  then,  there's  no  Shawsheen 

Sheltered  there  in  their  tepee  shade. 

The  fierce  Apaches  he  must  find  ! 

So,  weak  and  weary,  lone  and  lame, 
From  hunger  and  fatigue  combined 

(For  he  had  gotten  naught  of  game), 
He  reached  the  Apache  village  soon, 

By  a  forced  march  of  four  more  days  ; 
And  entering  it,  now  about  noon, 

He  set  the  squaws  all  in  amaze, 

Who  gathered  round,  on  him  to  gaze ! 
The  braves  were  off,  in  broken  bands, 

A  hunting,  fishing,  or  at  war  ; 
And  his  sad  plight  at  once  commands 

The  tepees'  kindest,  teuderest  care. 

The  aunt  of  Arrow — noble  squaw  ! 
Prepares  a  mess  of  savory  meat, 
And  near  the  "Bannock  boy"  doth  draw 

With  the  request :    "Pray,  rest  and  eat !  " 
Eut  he  would  neither  eat  nor  rest, 

As  a  lame  "Bannock  boy"  alone, 
Till  this  dame  squaw  he  thus  addressed  : 

"Please  name  what  captives  here  are  known."' 
"Ah,"  she  inquires,  "  Why  should  you  ask  ? 

The  Ute-Apache  war  is  known  ; 

13 


98    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  no  man  can,  under  a  mask, 

This  question  ask  of  me  alone  ! ' ' 
He  says  :    "  Once,  in  L/a  Salle  Bayou, 

I  saw  a  bright  and  brave  Ute  boy, 
The  noblest  Ute  I  ever  knew, 

Whose  sister  was  a  sunshine  joy  ; 
Her  name  was  Shawsheen — Shining  River  ; 

I  heard  Kit  Carson's  Indian  guide 
Say,  'She's  been  stolen  from  their  quiver, 

And  is  a  captive,  or  has  died  ! '  ' 

The  squaw — fears  thus  first  overcome — 

Explains  with  eloquence  the  war, 
Of  which  we've  seen  before  the  sum, 

Then  says  of  her  he's  seeking  for  : 
"Cheyennes  first  caught  the  fair  Shawsheen, 

Though  a  Sioux  Chief  seized  her  away  ; 
And  there  has  been  a  strife  between 

These  tribes  for  her  unto  this  day. 
Each  Chief  would  choose  her  for  his  wife, 

And  make  her  Queen  of  all  his  squaws, 
Did  not  this  strife  danger  her  life, 

And  condign  laws  condemn  her  cause. 
Their  laws,  or  customs,  lead  to  kill 

The  goodliest  captives  they  can  get, 
Some  fearful  sun-vow  to  fulfill ; 

And  Shawsheen  may  be  burned  up  yet ! ' 

When  thus  informed  of  others'  fears 

His  person  grew  so  gaunt  and  faint, 
As  of  a  youth  beyond  his  years, 

Some  ancient  sage,  or  aged  saint, 
He  sweat  cold  dripping  drops  of  sweat ; 

And  swayed  down  as  if  dead  of  swoon, 
Yet  lisped  to  the  kind  squaw  to  let 

None  see,  for  he'd  be  rested  soon  ; 

'  Twas  but  fatigue  and  heat  of  noon  ! 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  99 

The  good  squaw,  Pergamance,  by  name, 

Then  placed  him  on  a  bison  skin, 
"The  Bannock  boy  so  lone  and  lame," 
And  suffered  none  her  tent  within  ; 

But,  seated  near,  she  softly  sung, 
As  if  in  person  of  Piesse, 

Such  odes  as  used  his  ears  when  young  ; 
Of  tenderness  over  distress- 
Souls  blossoming,  indeed,  to  bless. 

PERGAMANCE'S  SONG,  SO  LIKE  PIESSE, 

THE  POOR  BANNOCK  BOY  TO  PRAISE  AND  BLESS. 

Strolling  here  a  hapless  stranger, 

Over  plains  and  mountains  dreary, 
He  has  come,  a  desert  ranger, 

Here  for  rest,  so  faint  and  weary  ; 

Let  him  rest.    Let  him  rest ! 
He  has  come  from  Bannock  mountains, 

Through  the  forest,  o'er  the  river, 
By  the  lakes  ard  by  the  fountains, 

With  worn  bow  and  wasted  quiver  ; 

Here  to  sleep.    Let  him  sleep  ! 
He  has  left  somewhere  his  mother  ; 

I  can  see  her  in  the  distance  : 
He  has  praised  Shawsheen's  half-brother, 

And  has  come  to  her  assistance — 

Who  can  tell  ?    Let  none  tell ! 
His  appearance,  poor,  but  royal, 

So  exhausted  for  some  reason  ; 
No  deserter,  nor  disloyal ; 

Toward  his  tribe  he  has  no  treason  ; 

He  is  true  ;  surely  true  ! 
Let  him  rest,  then — sleep  on  sweetly, 

Till  the  summer's  sun  is  setting, 
Till  he  is  refreshed  completely, 

Every  want  and  woe  forgetting  ; 
Then  wake  up  !    Cheer  thee  up  ! 


100        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTKS. 
SCENES    XXVIII. 

HE   IS   CHERISHED   BY   "CHANCE,"    WHO   SHOWS   HIM 

SHAWSHEEN'S  CROWN. 
That  simple  song  seemed  so  refreshing, 

In  his  ears  sung  o'er  and  o'er ; 
Like  his  mother's  matchless  blessing, 

Blessed  the  more,  since  shared  before. 
That  he  rested  safe  till  sunset, 

When  she  fetched  him  finer  food, 
And  her  viand — venison  cutlet — 

He  pronounced  supremely  good. 

She  told  him  then  of  their  surprise 

To  see  a  youth,  so  strong  of  frame, 
So  wan  of  face,  in  fact  so  wise, 

And  said :  "We  wish  to  know  your  name. 
We  will  keep  all  your  counsels  well : 

My  husband  Shawsheen's  uncle  is, 
And  he  will  all  about  her  tell 

If  you  have  such  a  mind  as  his  !  " 
Just  now  her  sovereign,  "  Chance  "  by  name, 

A  proved  and  young  Apache  chief, 
With  choicest  game,  and  good  cheer,  came, 

And  hastened  to  the  boy's  relief, 
With  fine  red  raspberries,  he  found, 

That,  as  a  plume,  had  graced  the  plain, 
Upon  a  piece  of  platted  ground 

Where,  long  ago,  some  chiefs  were  slain. 

Then,  sitting  at  the  sad  youth's  side, 

Whom  he  believed  a  Bannock  boy, 
Or  some  exhausted  mountain  guide, 

He  planned  what  wisdom  to  employ 
To  conquer  the  youth's  self  control, 

Determined,  like  some  deep  despair, 
To  get  the  secret  of  his  soul, 

And  why  for  captives  he  should  care. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN  LAKES.  101 

He  said:  "I'm  one  whom  you  can  trust : 

I  know  Skawsheen,  of  whom  you  speak  ; 
Her  parents  are  judicious,  just, 

And  may  have  sent  you  here  to  seek 
Their  daughter,  in  this  dangerous  place  ; 

For  Utes  offended  us  full  sore, 
When,  as  their  guests,  we  joined  their  race 

And  fairly  won  each  round  and  score ; 

But  they  claimed  all  we  had,  and  more. 

Yet  we've  heard  well  of  Konkaput, 

Chief  Colorado's  only  child, 
Upon  whose  head  Shawsheen  had  put 

A  royal  wreath  in  regions  wild  ; 
A  gift  which  he  had  kept  with  care, 

Until  one  day  he  went  away, 
When  he  returned  it  with  the  prayer  : 

'  Keep  this  with  care,  without  decay, 

Till  I  return,  with  you  to  stay  ! 

Remember  me,  and  what  I  say  ! ' 
When  she  was  captured  in  a  cave, 

In  the  Arkansas  valley's  side, 
The  bright  young  squaw,  with  spirit  brave, 

Tried  in  the  cave  the  crown  to  hide  ; 
But  she  and  it  alike  were  caught, 

By  the  Cheyennes  and  bloody  Sioux  ; 
And  to  my  tent  'twas  sent,  and  brought 

By  unknown  squaws,  who  told  the  news." 

"  Have  you  that  crown  ?  "  here  cries  the  boy  ; 

Yes ;  Pergamance  preserves  it  well !  " — 
This  joint  discovery's  overjoy 

Was  soon  suppressed;  then  Chance  did  tell 
Of  Shawsheen's  captors — the  whole  case — 

And  how  he'd  tried  to  buy  the  maid ; 
But  they  forbade  him  see  her  face, 

Or  send  her  messages  or  aid. 


102   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES, 

"Shawsheen,"  he  says,  "is  with  the  Sioux, 

At  present  pressing  towards  the  North  ; 
And  no  device,  that  I  can  use, 

Can  ever  bring  the  captive  forth. 
Shawsheen  is  sister  to  Arrow, 

The  bravest  boy  I  ever  saw  ; 
And,  though  my  niece,  I'd  have  you  know, 

She  is  indeed  the  brightest  squaw. 
I  never  tire  of  time  to  tell 

Of  these  half  Utes,  high  in  esteem, 
In  all  the  scenes  where  the  Utes  dwell, 

By  lakes,  and  cliffs,  and  mountain  stream  ; 
Yet  the  Great  Spirit  never  speaks 

In  voice  more  clarion-like  and  clear, 
From  blackening  clouds,  on  mountain  peaks, 

Than  to  the  Utes  the  previous  year. 

Their  king  was  killed,  and  his.  squaw  died, 

And  this  betrothed  of  their  one  son, 
Who  was,  of  all  the  Utes,  their  pride, 

Is  either  dead,  or  else  undone ; 
His  Queen  is  gone,  who  brought  his  crown 

With  her,  a  captive  held  complete ; 
And  the  Ute  race  must  all  run  down, 

Unless  their  King  this  Queen  shall  meet!  " 
Here  Pergamance  produced  the  crown, 

So  well  preserved,  it  seemed  the  same 
As  when  first  worn  they  both  went  down 

As  guides  for  his  good  fallen  game  : 

And  yet  the  youth  withheld  his  name  ; 
But  said  :    "Send  this  to  young  Arrow, 

Without  delay  ;   without  decay  ! 
Nor  say  me  nay  ;  for  I  must  go  !  " 

So  spake  the  boy,  then  sped  away. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  103 

SCENES    XXIX. 

THE  FARTHER   SEARCH   AMONG  THE  SIOUX. 

As  when  Elijah  forty  days 

Went  on  the  strength  of  one  repast — 
An  angel's  present  in  his  praise — 

So  one  light  meal  did  seem  to  last 
The  "Stray  Bannock,"  begetting  strength, 

As  from  some  superhuman  source, 
To  lead  through  journeys  of  great  length, 

Filling  him  full  of  faith  and  force. 

Imagination  reaches  not 

The  stretch  and  strength  that  struggle  there, 
With  none  to  speak  or  name  a  spot, 

To  cheer  his  distance  and  despair. 
B'en  valiant  sympathy  in  vain 

Would  see  this  wanderer's  suffering  way, 
Plunging  the  desert's  dusty  plain, 

And  marching  both  by  moon  and  day. 

Yet  Konkaput  went  o'er  the  wild, 

With  nought  but  wind  to  note  a  word, 
Cherished  by  none,  not  even  a  child — 

(When  Hagar  heard  her  son  and  Lord), 
He  marched  like  death  the  desert  main, 

Where  ancient  oceans  used  to  wave, 
But  where  not  even  a  bit  of  rain 

Or  drop  of  dew  would  weep  his  grave  ! 

Through  heat  and  cold,  all  day  and  night, 

He  trod  the  arid  Indian  trail, 
Until,  at  length,  he  caught  the  sight 

That  makes  the  strong  man's  spirit  quail — 
Of  warriors  flying  with  the  wind, 

And  rushing  for  him  in  full  run, 
To  catch  or  kill  whatever  kind 

Of  man  he  were,  or  more  than  one. 


104   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

With  salutation  of  a  friend, 

In  the  Sioux  dialect  he  said  : 
"I  must  be  near  my  journey's  end; 

I  hope  for  food,  rest  for  my  head, 
And  a  good  time  to  tell  the  tales 

I've  heard  among  the  brave  Bannocks, 
Whose  friendly  nature  never  fails 

The  stranger  searching  for  stray  flocks." 

At  this  the  warriors  wish  him  well : 

One  mounts  him  meekly  on  behind  ; 
They  take  him  to  a  distant  dell, 

There  to  make  known  their  Council's  mind. 
This  beautiful  and  high-banked  vale, 

Was  by  a  branch  of  Yellowstone, 
Where  outside  winds  would  not  assail, 

And  the  Sioux  camp  could  scarce  be  known. 

Here  Antelope,  a  young  Ute  brave, 

Who  was  with  Petit's  peltry  band, 
Is  held  a  sly  and  half-starved  slave, 

And  bidden  :  "  Here,  take  this  boy  in  hand  ! 
Go  rest  and  feed  him  in  his  route 

Till  Council  can  consult  his  case, 
Find  what  the  Bannock  boy's  about, 

And  why  so  faint,  and  sad  his  face  !  " 

When  these  two  Utes  are  thence  alone, 

Young  Konkaput  in  haste  inquires  : 
"  Have  you  not  ever  heard  or  known 

About  the  Sioux's  sun-dance  and  fires? 
At  which  they  burn  their  captives  best, 

As  by  some  solemn  sun-vows  bound, 
And  then  reserve,  as  slaves,  the  rest, 

To  sacrifice  on  some  chief's  mound?  " 

To  this  the  plaintive  slave  replies  : 
''I  did  hear,  but  the  other  day, 


A   LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  105 

And  sadly,  to  my  own  surprise, 

That  'twas  resolved  some  Utes  to  slay, 

Who  had  been  captured  in  a  war 

With  King  Coloro,  and  brought  away. 

So  soon  as  safe,  names  I  asked  for, 

And  when  would  be  the  wild  display. 

A  tender  squaw  then  told  me  all : 

How  Sioux,  Apaches  and  Cheyennes 
Did  on  the  Ute  encampment  fall, 

Upon  their  heights  and  in  their  glens, 
And  killed  their  King  and  caught  Shawsheen, 

The  promised  mate  of  his  one  son, 
Whom  all  the  Utes  called  King  and  Queen — 

And  to  be  burned  Shawsheen  was  one !  " 

(Konkaput ) 

Where  is  Shawsheen  ?   Did  you  inquire  ? 

And  where,  when,  will  her  burning  be? 
Why  burn  they  foes  so  in  the  fire  ? — 

Will  they  let  me  be  there  to  see  ? 

(Antelope.} 

I  could  not  learn  the  place  nor  day, 

Nor  other  of  the  victims'  names ; 
But  that  to  grace  the  grand  display 

Shawsheen  was  first  sought  for  the  flames  ! 
Nor  could  the  kind  squaw  quite  recall 

Whether  this  deed  had  not  been  done, 
Or  Shawsheen  should  be  burned  as  all, 

And  offered  at  the  dance  alone. 
I  dared  not  ask  her  any  more, 

Lest  my  Ute  nation  be  made  known, 
Which  I  had  kept  concealed  before — 

For  I  am  held  as  a  Shoshone  ! 
14 


106    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE)  KING  OF  UTES. 

At  this  King  Kon  kaput  reveals 

Himself  to  Antelope  in  haste, 
And  nothing  from  his  friend  conceals  ; 


Both  one  cup's  bitterness  can  taste  ! 
For  Council  the  meanwhile  have  met 

And  bidden  to  bind  the  "Bannock" boy," 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  107 

Till  they  shall  further  reasons  get 

Why  they  should  not  his  life  destroy. 

;  His  movemements,  how  mysterious ! 

His  mind  has  an  uncommon  mien  ; " 
They  say :    "And  why  he  seemeth  thus 

Remaineth  to  be  really  seen. 
L/et  him  be  held  as  the  Sioux'  slave 

Who  brought  him  undefended  here  ; 
For  he  may  prove  a  Bannock  brave 

Whom  in  the  future  we  shall  fear !  " 

So,  wood  and  water  carriers  kept, 

These  Ute's  (their  nation  yet  unknown), 
Who  have  as  friends  together  slept, 

But  slaves  now,  "Bannock"  and  "Shoshone," 
Finding  and  sharing  fellow  fate, 

Keep  searching  eyes  on  the  Sioux  camp  ; 
For  wisdom,  wind  and  weather  wait, 

Meaning  to  try  soon  mutual  tramp 

For  freedom,  as  firm,  faithful  friends ; 

But  first  to  save  Shawsheen  alive, 
If  in  the  attempt  existence  ends  ; 

And  in  this  thrilling  hope  they  thrive. 
The  "Bannock  boy,"  with  Antelope, 

Is  kept  in  camp  among  the  squaws, 
Who  help  in  various  ways  his  hope, 

As  even  the  wind  is  shown  with  straws. 

By  gravitation's  grandest  laws. 


108       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OK   UTES. 
SCENES    XXX. 

THE   SUN   DANCE  AND  THE   SACRIFICE. 

It's  hard  for  human  eyes  to  see, 

Or  benign  credence  to  believe, 
That  conscious  beings  e'er  could  be 

So  gratified  when  others  grieve, 
As  to  delight  in  torturing  death  ; 

To  kindle  fires,  like  cruel  fiends, 
Around  a  brother  creature's  breath, 

Away  from  home,  away  from  friends  ! 
But,  with  most  vicious  heathen  views, 

It  was  a  custom  of  Cheyennes,* 
And  sometimes  practiced  with  the  Sioux, 

To  desecrate  our  plains  and  glens 
By  burning,  unto  Seuoblaze, 

The  noblest  captives  they  could  take, 
And  on  their  writhing  victims  gaze, 

While  dancing  round  the  burning  stake  ! 
And  further  ;  power  to  appease, 

The  Sioux  would  dance,  as  with  the  sun, 
And  on  themselves  and  others  seize, 

And  cut  their  flesh  till  flow  and  run 
The  crimson  globules  on  the  ground  ; 

And  for  whole  days — and  nights,  indeed — 
The  suffering  dupes  still  dance  around 

And  blaze  their  flesh,  and  freshly  bleed. 
Such  is  the  savage  thirst  for  blood, 

In  pretense  to  propitate, 
That  the  most  guileless  and  most  good 

For  public  evils  expiate  ;     * 
And  passion,  like  an  appetite, 

Both  suicidal  and  severe, 


*  Mrs.  Ewbanks  testified:  "During  the  winter  of  my  cap- 
tivity (1864-5)  the  Cheyennes"  came  to  buy  me  and  my  child  of 
the  Sionx,  for  the  purpose  of  burning  us."  Major  Whiteby  said  : 
''The  same  year  these  Indians  had  captured  a  Ute  squaw  and 
•determined  to  burn  her,  but  she  was  rescued  by  our  soldiers 
after  she  had  been  tied  to  the  stake  and  the  fires  lighted." 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  109 

So  ruins  human  sense  of  right 

That  hell  is  oft  foretasted  here. 
Some  can  thus  cite  the  Cannanite, 

Who  sacrificed  of  his  own  flesh, 
And  practiced  many  a  pagan  rite, 

Till  ages  gone  are  given  afresh 
In  these  same  views  of  heathen  vice 

That  work  destruction  to  the  race, 
As  if  a  virtuous  .benefice 

Were  these  great  frauds  on  God's  free  grace? 
But  this  on  par  with  Petit  stood, 

Who  fell  consumed  by  a  fiery  curse 
Which  blasted  his  own  brotherhood 

And  made  his  passions  so  perverse 
That  even  his  fur-trade  had  to  fail ; 

His  helpers  left,  his  Utes  so  strayed 
Two  fell  into  the  Blackfeet's  trail, 

And  were,  like  pack  mules,  porters  made. 
One  fearing  Petit  would  him  kill 

Becomejagain  Kit  Carson's  guide, 
One  only  stood  by  the  Frenchman  still — 

Till  Petit  a  poor  drunkard  died  ! 
This  was  now  Antelope — the  slave — 

Who,  ere  dishonor  would  choose  death  ! 
He  plans  both  King  and  Queen  to  save, 

And  seeks  what  the  Sioux  Sachem  saith. 

So  Konkaput — as  we  have  seen — 

This  partner's  found  from  "Petit's  five,'* 
To  share  his  fate  and  find  Shawsheen, 

And  save  themselves  and  her  alive. 
Lest  Sionx  should  expiate  their  sin, 

By  seizing  them  to  bind  and  burn, 
This  Antelope  thus  enters  in 

To  his  King's  counsels  with  concern  : 
'Good  Konkaput,  be  called  Clark's  guide  ! J> 

He  says ;  then  tells  a  squaw  at  once 


110   YOUNG  KONKA.PUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

To  make  this  known  both  far  and  wide 

That  this  "  Bannock  " — supposed  a  dunce — 
Is  a  most  useful  Indian  guide  ; 

That  he  served  whiteman  Clark  six  months, 
And  promises,  with  prudent  pride, 

To  help  the  Sioux  pursue  their  hunts  ! 
This  information  flies  like  fire  ; 

From  direful  instinct  to  destroy, 
The  Indian  men  now  much  admire 

The  brilliant  but  sad  Bannock  boy. 
Another  Council  calls  his  aid 

In  an  excursion  the  next  day, 
With  preparations  promptly  made 

To  do  wThat  shall  his  skill  display. 
This'affords  chance  to  win  his  Chief, 

(For  whom  he  gets  abundant  game 
That  gives  the  glutton  great  relief), 

*  And  shyly  speak  of  Shawsheen's  name. 
He  says :    "When  I  was  with  Sir  Clark, 

Kit  Carson's  guide  gave  me  a  case 
So  really  worthy  of  remark, 

I  will  repeat  it  in  this  place  : 
<l  There  was  a  squaw,  Queen  of  the  Utes, 

Taken,  I  think,  from  King  Coloro' 
By  some  Cheyennes* — named  after  brutes, 

And  now  called  "Dog  Indians,"  you  know; 
Her  name  he  gave  me  as  Shawsheen, 

In  part,  Apache,  I  believe; 
This  Queen  of  Utes  you  may  have  seen, 

Or  heard  how  for  her  the  Utes  grieve  ; 

If  so  her  sketch  let  me  receive !  " 
To  this  appeal,  the  Chief  replies  : 

"The  Sioux  have  seen  this  same  Shawsheen, 
Whose  royal  skill  reached  to  the  skies  ! 

I  tried  to  keep  her  a  true  Queen, 


*  Cheyenne,  from  French  ckien,  dog. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  Ill 

From  seizance  as  a  sacrifice  ; 

But,  true,  the  Sioux  have  sometimes  tried 
To  sacrifice  royal  supplies  ; 

And  the  best  captives  thus  have  died  ! 
'Twas  so  one  day,  at  a  sun-dance, 

They  shouted  :  '  Let  us  Shawsheen  take  ! ' 
Till,  with  her  hands  tied  in  advance, 

They  bound  her  to  the  burning  stake  ; — 
Just  then  white  people  joined  their  power, 

L/aid  waste  our  camp  and  cut  her  loose, 
And  bore  her  off  that  very  hour, 

Subjecting  me  to  much  abuse! 
I  deemed,  from  what  seemed  their  disputes 

(With  no  reports  to  rely  on), 
That  she  was  not  sent  to  the  Utes, 

But  went  at  once  to  Oregon  ; 
For  such  the  course  the  caravan 

Pursued  with  great  persistency, 
With  plainest  purpose  in  their  plan 

To  settle  near  the  Sunset  Sea. 
They  were  attended,  at  the  time, 

By  soldiers  of  some  big  command, 
Who  have  come  here  for  the  high  crime 

To  let  whites  live  on  red  men's  land ! 
But  'tis  for  aid  against  these  foes 

The  Sioux  decreed  a  sun-dance  soon, 
That  we  may  crush  both  whites  and  Crows 

Who  must  be  met  in  one  more  moon. 
We  call  for  skill  to  scalp  and  kill 

Foes  white  and  red,  both  far  and  near  ; 
Also  for  aid  to  feed  and  fill 

Pappoose  and  squaw  with  peah,  deer, 
To  warm  them  in  the  winter's  chill 

With  furs  from  both  queant,  the  bear, 
And  the  wise  fox,  wa-hee,  at  will : 

To-morrow,  the  Sioux  sun-dance  share  ! 


112        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTES 

There  noblest  braves  from  near  and  far 

Will  gather  in  wild,  gay  attire, 
To  win  for  us  favor  in  war 

And  seek  the  Sun  with  sacred  fire. 
To  fit  their  bodies  foes  to  beat, 

Upon  the  fiercest  battle  field, 
They'll  wound  their  flesh,  as  warriors  meet, 

With  yells  and  whoops,  never  to  yield  !  "  * 
Thus,  well  informed,  the  young  King  found 
Ute  Antelope  without  a  sound. 


SCENES    xxxi. 

THE  SUDDEN   ESCAPE. 

That  night  those  slaves  thought  not  of  sleep. 

King  Konkaput  came  still  and  lone 
To  his  young  friend,  who  watch  did  keep, 

Named  the  near  danger  now  made  known  ;. 
How  the  sun-dance  would  be  next  da}-, 

And  was  to  be  in  aid  of  war  ; 
So  doubtless  during  the  display 

Some  sacrifice  would  be  sought  for  ; 
That  when  they'd  flayed  their  own  red  flesh 

They'd  no  doubt  cap  the  climax  dire, 
And  from  their  slaves  the  ones  most  fresh 

Would  be  by  force  bound  in  the  fire  ; 
That  as  had  been,  in  other  days, 

Their  victims  might,  in  vengeance  bound, 
Be  tortured,  too,  in  untold  ways, 

While  warriors  whooped  and  danced  around ; 
That  their  best  prospect  must  be,  pray, 

And  then  to  practice  as  their  prayer  ; 
So  he  asked  wisdom  in  the  way 

And  skill  to  escape  the  savage  snare. 


*  The  Boston  Congregationalist  published  in  1879  a  foil 
description  of  such  a  Sioux  war-dance,  which  actually  occurred 
that  year. 


A  LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 


113 


He  told  his  Maker  all  his  mind — 

As  he  had  showed  his  mate,  to  share 
The  care  of  heaven  for  human  kind — 

And  prayed  assistance  to  prepare 
To  fly  as  on  the  winged  wind !, 
A  young  squaw,  by  name  Opeeche, 

Robin-red-breast,  heard  their  converse 
And  made  known  her  hearty  pity  ; 

Then  in  words  most  kind  and  terse 
Told  them  of  the  way  before  them  ; 

Gathered  softly,  like  a  sutler, 
Such  stout  food  as  would  restore  them, 

Proved  both  a  baker  and  a  butler, 
As  in  silence  she  fast  served  them  ; 

And  most  thoughtful  packed  their  things, 
Till  her  nobler  nature  nerved  them 

With  these  words :    "  Now  use  your  wings  !  " 
[In  this  Sioux'  praise  much  should  be  said  : 
Her  hair  and  head 
As  if  "half  bred," 
Though  neat  and  good 
Were  of  full  blood, 
And  ne'er  a  brave 
Did  so  well  save 
A  captive  slave. 
This  noble  squaw 
At  one  time  saw 
A  pale-faced  dame 
Who  captive  came, 
And  her  distress 
She  sought  to  bless, 
And  in  the  course  of  many  days 

She  so  admired  her  mind  and  shape 
She  imitated  all  her  ways, 

And  planned  her  sure  and  safe  escape, 
And  won  almost  angelic  praise.] 


114    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

The  Utes  then  take  a  loaded  gun 

And  ammunition  suiting  it, 
And  seek  for  steeds  that  fastest  run, 

With  all  things  in  a  wise  outfit  ; 
And  swift  prepare  two,  used;-  m  war, 

And  fly  toward  the  Mountain  Gate, 
As  if  their  steeds  wild  eagles  were, 

Nor  do  they  fear  —  nor  foe,  nor  fate. 

Their  horses  plunge 

o'er  hill  and  plain  ; 
They  lasso  new  ones 
as  they  need  ; 

Bend  them  by  might  to  bit  and  rein, 
And  on  and  on,  still  on,  they  speed  — 
The  heavenly  legions  in  their  lead. 

The  Great  Spirit  ne'er  spent  all 
His  pitying,  interposing  power  ; 

And  when  King  Koukaput  did  call 
For  aid  to  escape  that  awful  hour 

In  so  sublimely  simple  prayer, 
His  Senoblaze  sent  down  to  bless 

And  take  them  in  his  tender  care, 
Delivering  them  in  their  distress, 
With  all  a  Father's  tenderness; 

And  it  may  be  that  saints  were  there  to  see. 


XXXII. 

FROM  THE  MOUNTAIN  GATE  TO  THE  OCEAN  COAST. 

The  gateway  of  the  mountains  grand, 

And  Hell  Gate,  called  —  that  horrid  pass  — 
Near  where  now  Helena  doth  stand, 

Beneath  a  sky  of  spangled  glass, 
Young  Antelope  and  Konkaput 

Now  traveled,  trusting,  most  the  night, 
Until  they  bode  no  evil  but 

The  risk  they  might  not  move  aright. 


116   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

As  prayer  and  provender  do  not 

Delay  wise  travelers  on  their  way, 
They  seek  oft  some  secluded  spot 

For  beasts  to  graze,  themselves  to  pray — 
King  Konkaput  learned  this  from  Clark, 

Who  taught  "to  labor  and  to  wait," 
And  used,  sometimes,  to  stop  and  hark 

As  if  some  voice  he  heard  in  strait. 
They  loitered  so -in  lovely  scenes, 

That  man  and  beast  might  breathe  and  rest 
They  marked  what  each  new  omen  means, 

To  see  if  they  were  cursed  or  blessed. 
They  even  noticed  how  the  sea 

Once  waved  about  and  overhead, 
And  felt  an  awful  majesty 

Of  power  was  near  where'er  they  tread. 


These  untaught  Indians  also  saw 

In  rocks  and  winds  whate'er  they  wish 

And  found  here  fossils  with  felt  awe — 
The  shapes  of  shells,  outlines  of  fish. 

And  in  these  solitudes  alone 

They  marveled  at  these  mysteries 


A   LEGKND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  117 

Which  pointed  now  to  power  unknown, 

That  worked  here  through  wide  centuries. 
Yet  none  of  these  kept  the  young  King 

From  pressing  on  in  his  pursuits 
Of  her  whom  he  kept  worshipping, 

His  own  betrothed,  the  Queen  of  Utes. 
And'  though  they  had  to  hunt  for  game, 

With  an  old  gun  they  took  from  Sioux, 
King  Konkaput  still  sought  her  name 

'Mong  squalid  tribes,  and  for  the  news. 
Shawsheen,  if  she  be  saved  alive, 

And  borne  on  by  that  caravan, 
Must  be  where  Indians  still  survive, 

And  yet  with  the  frontier  white  man . 
;'The  grape-vine  telegraph  "  's  not  grown 

To  such  size  there  that  they  can  see 
A  single  native  that  has  known 

The  slightest  clue  where  she  can  be. 
The  Flat -Heads  .seem  such  home-bred  fools 

They  hear  not,  hope  not  help  from  these ; 
But  Wai  la- Wallas  want  white  schools, 

And  try  the  pale  faces  to  please  ; 
So  thither  they  wend  first  their  way, 

And,  with  a  march  of  weeks,  they  make 
The  "Walla  downs  "  one  cool,  wet  day, 

Where  hills  the  ocean  breezes  break. 
Here  Konkaput,  in  haste,  inquires, 

By  hybred  tongues,  his  best  in  tone, 
For  the  fair  damsel  he  desires — 

But  of  her  name  no  hint  is  known  ! 
The  Umatillas  then  he  tries — 

Of  white  or  red  they've  not  a  word  ; 
Though  grand  his  search,  their  great  surprise, 

Assures,  of  Shawsheen  they've  not  heard. 
He  wanders  then  where  Willamette 
Her  silver  stream  hastes  to  the  sea  ; 


118        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTES. 

There  seeks  again  some  sound  to  get, 

To  break  the  seal  where  she  may  be. 
But  all  is  silent  as  a  tomb, 

'Mong  Indians,  white  men,  English,  French, 
And  fruitless  as  a  barren  womb 

His  inquiries,  which  naught  can  quench. 
He  wanders  even  in  wildest  night 

With  hope  to  hear  one  helping  word, 
And  seeks  all  haunts  to  have  a  sight 

Of  even  her  corpse — all  hope's  deferred  ! 
He  seeks  next  here,  the  sea  side  near, 

At  sundown,  and  "Shawsheen  !  "  doth  sigh, 
Turning  his  ear  in  turn  to  hear 

If  echo  shall  Shawsheen  reply. 

He  stands  alone  where  all  is  still, 

Bxcept  the  waves  that  seem  to  weep 
And  throb  as  with  his  anxious  thrill, 

And  dictate  pulses  to  the  deep  ; 
He  sits  here  silent  near  the  sea, 

To  hear  its  soughing,*  hollow  sound, 
Till  in  its  measured  minstrelsy 

He  fancies  Shawsheen  here  is  found. 
But  Antelope  becomes  oppressed 

With  pity  and  their  poverty — 
They  have  nowhere  their  heads  to  rest — 

He  wonders  what  the  end  will  be  ; 
Next  wanders  to  a  neighboring  wood 

And  digs  them  clean  a  den  or  cave, 
In  which  to  store  stipends  of  food 

And  seek  his  love-sick  King  to  save  ! 
It  was  indeed  a  wild  beasts'  den, 

In  which  a  bear  once  reared  her  cubs, 
Hidden  away  from  haunts  of  men, 

By  shelt'ring  rocks  and  shady  shrubs, 


*  Pronounced  stiffing. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES. 

And  hemmed  in  by  both  sea  and  hills, 
A  place  almost  on  Adams'  point, 

Which  nature  with  fond  beauty  fills 
When  native  suns  the  scenes  anoint. 


119 


By  months — a  year — this  is  their  "  Berne," 

Though  journeys  to  the  neighboring  whites 
They  take  by  turn,  tidings  to  learn, 

And  Konkaput  his  cause  recites, 
And  day  by  day  still  more  desires 

To  know  who's  seen  his  maid  Shawsheen — 
At  length  poor  Antelope  expires, 

Of  pity  for  his  King  and  Queen  ! 

ANTELOPE   BURIED   BY   KONKAPUT. 

Then  Konkaput,  compelled  by  fate, 
Feeble  in  health,  and  faint  at  heart, 

Lifts  mournfully  his  lifeless  mate, 
With  none  to  pity  or  take  part ; 

And  stepping  light,  lays  him  in  state 


120        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE;   KING   OF 

Beside  the  sea — beneath  a  tree- 
Sad  duty,  and  so  desolate  ! 

Then  sigheth  he  :     "  Except  the  sea, 

Soon  none  there'll  be  to  bury  me  !  " 
How  lonely  now  his  life  alone  ! 

No  wonder  if  he  wander  'round 
And  make  the  rocks  repeat  his  moan, 

Till  like  insanity  they  sound  ! 
Or  speak  he  language  not  his  own  ; 


Repeating  maxims  most  profound, 
And  naming  annals  he'd  not  known, 

But  heard  from  beings  hovering  round, 
Or  thrills  electric  from  the  Throne  ! 

Or  if  o'er  stepped  its  bound  his  dream, 
And  a  somnambulist  he  seem  ; 

Or  he  a  suicide  shall  be, 

Self-buried  in  the  boundless  sea — 
The  solemn  sea  ! 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  121 

SCENES    XXXIII. 
THE  LAST   LONE  INDIAN'S   SOLILOQUY  AND  SUICIDE. 

Most  Indians  have  been  heard  complain 
That  there  will  soon  no  more  remain, 
And  in  their  fancy  they  portray 
The  last  lone  one  to  pass  away  ; 
And  Konkaput,  the  kingly  Chief, 
Impersonates  this  sad  belief, 
As  in  Point  Adams'  setting  day 
Upon  some  cliff  we  hear  him  say  : 

"  '  The  last  lone  Indian,'  here  I  stand  ! 

Eastward  is  my  father-land  ; 

Westward  rolls  this  wide,  rough  sea, 

My  final  resting  place  to  be. 

Behind  me  stand  stone  mountains  brave, 

And  'round  primeval  forests  wave  ; 

'Tis  here  I  stand  and  lonely  wait 

To  find  "the  last  lone  Indian's  "  fate  ! 

The  faithful  Sun  there  hides  his  face 

And  blushes  to  behold  my  race  ; 

That  Sun — my  sire's  great  God  was  he — 

Paid  daily  visits  dear  to  me  ; 

And  now  in  this  descending  day 

Is  still  the  last  to  pass  away, 

Of  those  endearing,  early  joys 

That  our  brave  chieftains  willed  their  boys. 

O'er  distant  heights  are  scenes  too  dear 

To  be  forgotten,  even  here. 

A  savage  can't  forget  his  home, 

Though  forced  by  fate  afar  to  roam — 

A  savage  ?    Yes,  he  has  a  heart 

That  hates  from  all  that's  his  to  part ; 

He  can't  forget  his  fearless  sires 

Nor  all  destroy  innate  desires  ! 

When  both  red  men  and  white  combine 

To  tear  from  me  myself  and  mine, 

16 


122        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTES. 

And  from  my  life  my  love  to  tear, 

My  swelling  wrath  doth  move  and  swear 

Resentment,  even  to  all  my  race  ! 

But  nay  ;  to  passion  give  no  place  ! 

With  kind  amaze,  composed  I'll  gaze 

On  the  dear  scenes  of  other  days  ! 

Through  this  fair  land  our  fathers  lie 

In  well  skilled  mounds  that  mold  the  sky  ; 

I've  roamed  oft  times  with  reverence  due, 

Vast  marches  made  those  mounds  to  view. 

And  then  in  wildered  mood  I've  walked, 

And  to  myself  in  silence  talked 

Of  the  departed  ancient  dead, 

Where  now  the  "pale-faced  nation"  tread. 

My  sires  have  often  told  me,  too, 

Of  noblest  red  men  that  they  knew ; 

Complained  that  Logan's  grave  is  plowed, 

That  no  one  knows  where  Philip  bowred, 

Or  where  Tecumseh's  tomb  is  now  ; 

Or  where  Black-Hawk  is  lying  low, 

And  where  our  Great  Chief's  children  go 

No  pale-face  notes,  though  well  he  know  ! 

My  fond  Ute  father  has  his  grave 

Where  Twin  Lakes  waters  weep  and  wave ; 

And  the  dear  one  who  gave  me  birth, 

Whose  mother-smile  smoothed  all  my  mirth, 

Whose  hand  my  venison  prepared, 

Nor  shunned  to  lift  each  load  I  shared, 

Whose  jealous  eyes  with  instant  joy 

Were  happy  in  her  happy  boy  ; 

Who  wished  my  soul  to  see  the  way 

To  sun-lit  heaven,  where  setting  day 

Hath  peace  and  plenty  all  embraced 

In  depth  of  wood  and  watery  waste, 

And  oft  expressed  the  fond  desire 

That  does  for  aye  my  bosom  fire, 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  123 

That  when  I  die  I  might  there  fly 
And  be  her  constant  company — 
That  one,  dear  one,  was  buried,  too, 
Where  the  same  pine  tree  peaceful  grew ; 
And  when  I  sat  beneath  that  tree, 
My  mother  !  I  did  mourn  for  thee, 
And  for  that  princely  fallen  pride 
That  sits  in  silence  at  thy  side  !. 
I  mourn  for  all  mementoes  dear 
That  memory  mingles  there  and  here  ! 
Lamented  dead  !  most  dearly  loved  ! 
How  sadly  has  my  sore  heart  roved 
Away,  afar,  for  one  ye  prize, 
Most  lovely  in  my  longing  eyes, 
Whose  cruel  fate,  heart  crushed  I  feel, 
With  no  kind  hand  to  break  the  seal ; 
It  is  for  her  and  you  I  heave 
My  hopeless  sighs,  and  hapless  grieve  ! 

.  Oh,  when  I  think  of  Indians  slain, 
By  those  who  do  our  dust  disdain, 
How  can  I  but  for  vengeance  plead 
And  bid  fierce  indignation  lead, 
Until  the  last  red  blood  is  shed 
And  mingled  with  the  trampled  dead? 
I  will  eternal  vengeance  swear, 
And  with  my  war-cry  rend  the  air  ! 
Ye  craggy  peaks,  thou  ocean  wave, 
Repeat  my  oath,  prepare  my  grave  ! 
To  desperation  I  am  mad  ! 
Revenge  enough  we  never  had  ; 
Revenge  !  revenge  !  revenge,  or  death  ! 
I'll  breathe  revenge  in  my  last  breath, 
And  bid  death  groan  above  my  grave  : 

'  Swear  to  avenge  the  Indian  brave  !  " 

But  hold  !    My  passion  burns  too  high  ! 
I'll  rest,  and  ask  the  reason  why 


124   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF 


Old  hunting  grounds  no  more  remain, 
And  white  men  move  above  my  slain  ; 
Why  o'er  them  run  their  public  roads, 
Where  heartless  teamsters  haul  their  loads ; 
And  reverently  will  I  survey 
The  reasons  why  we're  swept  away  ! 


My  fancy  sees  a  rising 

smoke 
Beneath  a  long  since 

leveled  oak  ; 
A  rude  tent's  there, 

yet  royal,  poor, 
The  Kings  of  Isle, 

San  Salvador ! 
Distinguished  men, 
^     from  o'er  the  main, 
|  There  meet  and  speak 

from  ships  of  Spain, 
While  the  poor 

Indians  all  adore 
And  wish  their  angel 

forms  ashore — 
And  are  made  slaves — 

forevermore  ! 


And  next,  new  wanderers  o'er  the  wave, 
Good  Pilgrims,  came,  to  whom  we  gave 
Immediate  welcome  with  our  maize, 
Which  cost  real  toil  to  rudely  raise  ; 
Who  soon  usurped  our  native  soil 
And  sped  our  hunting  grounds  to  spoil, 
Our  fathers'  graves  to  foully  mar, 
And  forced  us  to  ill-fated  war  ! 
But  Science — O,  that  subtle  name — 
The  patron  of  those  pilgrims  came, 


A  LEGEND   OF   TWIN  LAKES.  125 

And  changed  our  maize*  to  murderous  rum, 
To  blast  all  hopes  aud  blight  our  home  ; 
And  ores,  yet  useless  in  our  eyes, 
Their  shafts  of  death  would  shortly  rise, 
Till  where  we  feathered  arrows  threw 
Like  bolts  of  flame  their  bullets  flew  ; 
And  where  we  moored  our  bark  canoe, 
Enchanted  forests,  steam-boats  grew  ; 
And  where  we  traced  our  winding  trail 
They'd  send  direct  a  daily  mail ; 
And  where  we  forced  our  single  file 
They  would  construct  a  wide  canal, 
Or  thought  in  weeks  we'd  traveled  far 
They  send  per  day  their  peopled  car. 
'Tis  thus  they  fought  us,  thus  we  fell — 
Their  Science  does  the  secret  tell — 
'Twas  not  their  valor  more  than  ours, 
Nor  yet  their  prouder  civil  powers, 
But  simple  Science  tells  the  tale 
Why  they  had  fortune,  we  did  fail ; 
Till  where  our  Chief's  slow  message  went 
Their  mandate  is  by  lightning  sent ! 
Then,  had  my  race  employed  her  power, 
We,  too,  had  prospered  till  this  hour ; 
And  forest  wilds,  our  fertile  fields, 
To  JS  had  given  their  golden  yields  ; 
And  happy  sires  and  home-bred  sons 
Had  prized  their  farms  as  precious  ones, 
And  mastered  arts  which  make  them  thus, 
And  owned  Him  good  who  gave  them  us  ; 
Who  grants  us,  as  the  gifts  of  God, 
The  hills  and  brooks,  the  heavens  broad, 
The  brilliant  moon  and  brighter  morn, 


*  General  Harney,  the  veteran  Indian  fighter,  said  to  a  com- 
mittee of  Congress  once:  "Whisky  has  caused  most  of  our 
cruel  Indian  wars.  Liquor  dealers  ought  to  be  hanged  or  shot, 
and  I  would  cheerfully  detail  an  officer  to  attend  to  the  duty  if  I 
had  the  authority,  to  protect  the  Indians  against  them." 


126        YOUNG    KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

The  grazing  herd  and  growing  corn, 

The  cultured  heart  and  Christian  home, 

The  Sabbath  church  and  sacred  tomb, 

And  sinless  heaven,  where  strife  and  blood 

And  fleshly  lust  harm  not  the  good  ! 

Instead  of  red  men  murd'ring  red, 

Destroying  life  where'er  they  tread, 

Bxisting  half  intoxicate, 

Always  grumbling  and  ingrate, 

We  had  been  raised  to  hope  and  heaven, 

Our  part  among  good  people  given  ; 

And  practicing  the  arts  of  peace, 

Had  so  secured  our  race  increase. 

Then  here,  I  urge  my  humane  charge  : 

The  white  race,  with  resources  large, 

Have  not  employed  sufficient  pains 

To  civilize  our  savage  brains, 

And  help  us,  hence,  to  prosper  here ; 

And  in  their  nobler  heaven,  so  near, 

To  stud  likeistars  their  stainless  crown, 

And  reign  with  them  to  their  renown. 

And  oh,  the  bliss,  that  so  in  bloom, 

Shall  bear  fresh  fr»it  beyond  the  tomb, 

If  wise  men  here  would  rise  to  raise, 

Whole  tribes  of  red  men  to  their  praise ; 

They'd  buoy  them  up,  though  ill  and  base, 

To  grow  in  science,  truth,  and  grace, 

And  pass  to  those  imperial  plains 

Where  knowledge,  pure,  progressive,  reigns. 

O  spirit  land !     'Tis  but  to  know 

The  way  to  thee,  to  thee  I'd  go  ! 

A  soul  still  bound  within  me  sighs 

To  scale  these  rocks  and  range  the  skies, 

Till,  wandering  far,  at  last  I  find 

That  deathless  heaven  for  deathless  mind ! — 

It  may  be  there  I'll  meet  Shawsheen, 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  127 

Above,  quite  fairer  than  Ute  Queen  ! 

'Tis  lonely  here  to  live  alone ! 

To  die  !  where  rocks  repeat  my  moan, 

And  ocean  waves  bring  back  the  sound, 

As  o'er  the  beach  the  billows  bound  ! 

I'm  wishing  now  to  have  her  wave 

Afford  my  funeral  and  my  grave  ; 

For  here  I  find  no  friendly  hand 

To  have  me  buried  on  the  land ! 

And  if  there  were,  the  woodman's  near  ; 

His  bickering  ax  sounds  even  here  : 

And  this  last  spot  he  soon  will  claim, 

Where  now  I  starve  for  want  of  game ! 

Come,  waiting  waters,  wild  and  clear ! 

You  I  can  trust  to  keep  with  care ; 

O,  pathless  sea,  so  peaceful  thou, 

Receive  this  last  lone  savage  now ! 

But  hold  !   What's  that  I  hear?    Hark  !  hark ! 

I  see  a  form — forlorn  and  dark  ! — 

I  hear  a  heaving,  human  heart ; 

Has  some  one  come  to  take  my  part  ?" 
A  negro  slave  came  slowly  near  ; 
His  heart  beat  high  and  fast  with  fear ; 
But  soon  he  cries  :  "Stop  !  stop  there,  stranger  1 

Why  will  you  on  ruin  rush  ? 
I  am,  too,  a  forest  ranger  ; 

Crimes  most  cruel  me  would  crush  ; 
Then  let  us  each  the  other  cheer  ! 
Ivord  of  mercy  !  Jesus,  hear  !  " 
The  Ute  laughs  back  :    "You  are  too  late  ! 
Now  see  the  "last  lone  Indian's  fate  !  " 
So  saying,  fiercely,  down  he  fell, 
Where  the  surges  beat  and  swell, 
While  the  slave  beheld  their  breaking 
O'er  the  wild  youth,  wave  on  wave, 
Till  he  felt  like  undertaking 


128        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTKS. 

There  with  him  to  find  a  grave. 
But  he  said :   "No,  I'll  not  do  it ! 

For  I  fear  a  second  death  ; 
Suicides  I'm  sure  must  rue  it, 

In  their  deeper  depths  beneath. 
I'll  not  let  this  poor  wretch  perish  ; 

He  may  also  have  a  wife, 
Children,  even,  to  love  and  cherish  !  " 

So  down  he  dives  to  save  his  life  ; 
Strangling,  wrangling,  up  they  come — 
And  make  the  slave's  hut  soon  their  home. 


XXXIV. 

THE  ROUGH   SAILOR  STORY  TELLERS. 

Konkaput  we  last  saw  casting 

Himself  down  into  the  deep, 
Sadly  asking  everlasting 

Waves  his  requiem  to  weep  ; 
And  we  saw  a  slave,  as  lonely, 

Saving  the  poor  suicide  ; 
For  this  service  asking  only 

To  be  thence  his  guard  and  guide. 
As  a  brother,  he  besought  him 

To  accept  his  helping  hand, 
And  forthwith  the  negro  brought  him 

To  a  hut  near  by  the  strand. 
A  fit  place  it  stood  for  storage, 

Where  some  sailors,  wrecked  at  sea, 
Had  bestowed  their  far-fetched  forage, 

And  still  lingered  anxiously. 
These  had  found  and  fed  this  negro, 

As  a  fainting  fugitive, 
And  had  made  him  useful  also, 

As  a  cook  to  help  them  live. 
So  to  these,  this  slave,  Zinziba, 

Brought  young  Konkaput  with  care, 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  129 

His  brow  as  brindle  as  a  zebra, 

The  brine  and  sand  still  in  his  hair  ; 
Laid  him  on  a  bed  of  oak  leaves, 

Fed  him,  too,  with  meat-soups  well, 
Clothed  him  warm  with  his  own  coat  sleeves, 

Begging  him  his  woes  to  tell, 
Till  the  Ute  told  them  his  story  ; 

Everywhere  his  heart  had  been, 
Since  that  battle  field  so  gory, 

Seeking  for  his  stolen  queen. 
His  thread  of  talk  was  touching,  thrilling  ; 

The  "tough  sailors"  sat  around, 
Each  his  pipe  impulsive  filling, 

Listening  in  a  spell  profound. 
Though  his  English  was  half  Utish, 

They  were  eager  for  each  word ; 
Though  "rough  sailors"  oft  seem  brutish, 

His  tale  every  bosom  stirred. 
Then  each  "  tar  "  told  o'er  his  story, 

Where  he'd  been  and  what  he'd  seen  ; 
One  had  fought  on  fields  of  glory  ; 

One  had  found  men  false  and  mean  ; 
Two  had  twice  been  wrecked  in  tempest ; 

Two  had  left  at  home  loved  wives — 
All  had  lately  in  good  earnest 

Leapt  in  ocean  with  their  lives ! 
So,  a  sort  of  kindred  feeling 

Kindled  through  the  company, 
Hastened  the  Ute's  early  healing, 

And  all  mingled  happily. 
There  was  hunting,  there  was  fishing, 

There  was  cooking  meats  and  stews  ; 
There  were  watching,  waiting,  wishing — 

Wishing  sails — all  sorts  of  news  ! 
Time  enough  for  novel-telling, 

Real,  romantic,  as  may  be, 
17 


130   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Daughter  swaying,  like  the  swelling 

Breakers  on  a  bounding  sea. 
But  Zinziba  was  most  zealous 

For  such  tales  as  seemed  all  true, 
And  one  day  he  said — half  jealous — 

Will  you  hear  my  story,  too  ? 

It  is  thrilling — hear  it  through  : 

Let  me  tell  it ;  it  is  true  ! 


SCENES    XXXV. 
SLAVE  ZINZIBA'S  ZEALOUS  STORY. 
Down  the  sailors  sat  demurely, 

Heard  Zinziba.  now  discuss 
Whether  our  oppressors  surely 

Execute  God's  will  on  us. 
Then  he  said  :     This  humane  savage, 

You've  considered  well  his  case  ; 
Now  I'll  tell  your  nation's  ravage 

Of  the  kidnapt  negro  race. 

ZINZIBA   DESCRIBES   THE   SLAVE-TRADE. 

Let  that  be  the  Atlantic  ocean, 

Let  this  be  lone  Africa's  land ; 
Listen  to  that  strange  commotion, 

Creeping  up  and  down  the  strand  ! 
I  can  see  a  Saxon  slaver 

Coming  slowly  toward  the  coast ; 
In  her  brutal  work  she's  braver 

Than  hell's  base,  belligerent  host ! 
Look  at  her  !  O,  look  and  listen  ! 

For  I  tell  no  fancied  tale  ; 
Look  !  her  masts  in  moon-light  glisten  ; 

Note  her  soiled  and  nameless  sail  ! 
See  !  she's  moving  shoreward,  slowly, 

In  the  moon-beam's  misty  ray  ; 
See  her  !  look  !    She's  crouching  lowly,. 

Like  a  lion  for  his  prey  ! 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  131 

Ah  !  she  now  is  casting  anchor, 

Beneath  God's  beholding  gaze  ! 
And  her  Christless  crew  all  hanker 

To  set  black-men's  homes  ablaze  ! 
The  slave  marts  *  have  all  been  emptied, 

And  no  bondmen  can  be  bought ; 
So  some  tribe— none  seems  exempted — 

Has  been  named  and  now  is  sought. 
Look,  how  the:r  advance  is  lighted 

By  such  huts  as  this  in  flame, 
While  the  friendly  inmates,  frighted, 

Fly,  like  hunted,  fleeing  game. 
Can't  you  hear  now  fetters  clanking? 

Chiming  in  with  children's  woes  ! 
Aye,  right  quickly  now  they're  ranking ; 

On,  right  on,  the  chain  gang  goes. 
Look  again  !    Lo,  there's  another  ! 

(O,  that  Zion  had  such  zeal !) 
But,  mark  you,  there's  an  old  mother 

*  Henry  Clay,  before  the  African  Colonization  Society,  said 
in  Frankfort,  Ky.,  December  17,  1829  :  "The  African  part  of  our 
population,  or  their  ancestors,  were  brought  hither  forcibly  and 
by  violence,  in  the  prosecution  of  the  most  abominable  traffic 
that  ever  disgraced  the  annals  of  the  human  race.  They  were 
chiefly  procured  in  their  native  country  as  captives  in  war,  taken 
and  subsequently  sold  by  the  conqueror  as  slaves  to  the  slave- 
trader.  Sometimes  the  most  atrocious  practices  of  kidnaping 
were  employed  to  obtain  possession  of  the  victims. '  In  these 
modes  husbands  were  torn  from  their  wives,  parents  from  their 
children,  brethren  from  each  other,  and  every  tie  cherished  and 
respected  among  men  was  violated.  Upon  the  arrival  at  the 
African  coast  of  the  unfortunate  beings  thus  reduced  to  slavery, 
they  were  embarked  on  board  of  ships  carefully  constructed  and 
arranged  to  contain  the  greatest  amount  of  human  beings.  Here 
they  were  ironed  and  fastened  in  parallel  rows  and  crowded 
together  so  closely,  in  loathsome  holes,  as  not  to  have  room  for 
action  or  for  breathing  wholesome  air.  The  great  aim  was  to 
transport  the  largest  possible  number  at  the  least  possible  charge 
from  their  native  land  to  the  markets  for  which  they  were 
destined.  The  greediness  of  cupidity  was  frequently  disap- 
pointed and  punished  in  its  purposes  by  the  loss  of  the  moieties 
of  whole  cargoes  of  the  subjects  of  this  infamous  commerce, 
from  want,  suffering  and  disease  on  the  voyage.  How  much 
happier  were  they  who  thus  expired  than  their  miserable  sur- 
vivors!" These  were  the  words  of  him  who  said:  "I  would 
rather  be  right  than  be  President." 


132   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTE)S. 

Burned  alive!— How  do  you  feel? 
See,  her  son  is  now  returning 

From  the  jungle,  whence  he  came 
Just  in  time  to  see  her  burning, 

In  his  own  hut  all  aflame  ! 
O,  what  horrid  thoughts  came  o'er  him, 

As  that  distant,  dazzling  light 
First  blew  up  so  high  before  him, 

And  seized  all  his  anxious  sight ! 
Now  what  anguish,  near  the  ashes, 

And  his  mother's  burning  bones, 
As  upon  his  fancy  flashes 

Her  dear  grief  and  dying  groans  ! 
He's  a  madman  !  and  'tis  midnight ! 

Not  a  soul  is  seen  around ; 
But  through  melancholy  moonlight, 

He  lists  something  like  a  sound 
Which,  his  heightened  senses  hearing, 

He  makes  haste  more  clear  to  hear, 
Neither  foes  nor  numbers  fearing — 

What  has  he  to  do  with  fear? 
Lo !  he  sees  his  little  brother  ; 

So  like  him,  yet  less  in  size  ; 
New  advance  makes  known  another — 

His  young  sister  next  he  spies. 
Shall  he  stop  and  stay  behind  them  ? 

Let  them  all  be  led  away  ? 
If  he  should,  he  ne'er  shall  find  them, 

Thcfugh  he  search  them  many  a  day. 
Now,  more  crushing  thoughts  crowd  o'er  him, 

That  his  long  lost  father,  too, 
May  be  in  that  ship  before  him, 

Held  in  bondage  by  the  crew  ! 
Now  he  moves  in  frantic  measure, 

Till  he  comes  so  near  the  train, 
They  seize  him  as  their  sure  treasure, 

And  hold  him  fast  with  a  huge  chain. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  133 

"THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE." 
Then  the  kidnappers  who  caught  them 

Bind  on  ship-board  firm  and  strong 
The  full  captive  cargo  brought  them, 

And  set  sail,  both  sad  and  long, 
Till  at  length  the  verdant  mountains 

Of  "Columbia"  came  in  sight, 
Then  her  fertile  fields  and  fountains, 

Still  less  distant,  lent  delight. 
Soon  the  luckless  slaves  they're  leading 

Out,  in  shackels,  on  the  shore  ; 
But  each  blighted  heart  is  bleeding, 

For  the  names  they'll  know  no  more. 
Now  they're  marching,  in  the  manner 

Of  starved  swine  from  stinted  styes, 
And  beneath  Columbia's  banner, 

Fanned  by  fettered  bondmen's  sighs, 

To  the  slave  pen — there  hope  dies  ! 


SCENES  xxxvi. 

WHAT   THEY   MET   THERE   IN   THE    SLAVE   MART. 

When  into  the  pen  they  drove  them, 

So  like  cattle  sent  for  sale, 
A  few  balls  of  rice  they  hove  them  ; 

But  of  this  they'd  often  fail. 
The  boy's  brothers  here  both  perished  ; 

Though  their  sisters — there  were  three — 
Whom  in  fever's  fire  they  cherished, 

Sank  in  passing  o'er  the  sea. 
Then  the  market  place  they  entered  ; 

And  the  "Slave  Mart"  slowly  thronged 
With  fierce  bidders,  who  first  centered 

Where  the  last  caught  slave  belonged, 
Till  a  trifling,  lustful  trader 

Turned  attention  unto  one 


134        YOUNG  KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTKS. 

Who  stood  just  as  nature  made  her — 

And  with  her  bids  were  begun. 
There  he  clinked  his  unclasped  coffers, 

And  with  mean,  immodest  mirth, 
Made  for  her  his  unmatched  offers — 

Bought  the  prize  of  princely  birth  ; 
And  then  bought  the  boy  with  others  ; 

Just  the  ones  he  chanced  to  choose — 
Friends  were  severed,  sisters,  brothers — 

But  my  sire  had  none  to  lose  ! 
So  he  sighed  o'er  others'  sorrow ; 

For  they  knew  their  march  was  near, 
And  all  dreaded  much  the  morrow  ; 

Every  face  seemed  full  of  fear. 
In  the  morn  the  horn  was  blowing, 

All  around  the  trumpet  rang, 
And  the  chain  gang  cheerles  going — 

Full  five  hundred  filled  the  gang ! 
With  dreadful  oaths  half  drunken  drivers 

O'er  hill  and  plain,  through  sun  and  rain, 
Cross  sweltering  sands  and  swelling  rivers, 

Forced  their  tramp  toward  fields  of  cane. 
My  own  parents,  paired  as  leaders, 

Head  the  hand  cuffed  caravan, 
Favored  some  by  the  slave  feeders, 

Because  they  were  the  "leading  span." 
"  Well  matched  leaders,  mighty  loving, 

The  first  two  thus  bought  in  pairs  ; 
They'll  be  breeders  well  worth  having  ; 

Worth  thousands  each  will  be  their  heirs  !  " 
Thus  naen-stealers  talked  to  stifle 

Sense  of  wrong  they  sometimes  have  ; 
While  with  ropes  and  whips  and  rifle 

They  forced  their  fellows  toward  the  grave. 
When  these  captives  came  to  station, 

Several  planters  sought  the  place, 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  135 

While  a  hopeful  resignation 

Made  more  fair  my  parents'  face. 
They  were  therefore  bought  with  banters, 

By  two  different  men  at  last, 
Two  well  pleased  adjacent  planters  ; 

So  their  case  seemed  kindly  cast. 
Once  a  week,  it  was  on  Sunday, 

They  might  meet  each  other  then, 
If  at  early  morn  on  Monday 

They  would  go  to  work  again. 
There  were  there,  too,  some  wise  teachers 

Who  taught  open  Sunday  school, 
And  my  parents  heard  some  preachers 

Who  read  to  them  the  golden  rule. 
But  one  Sunday,  I  remember — 

We  were  five  when  all  at  home — 
It  was  early  in  September, 

That  my  father  did  not  come. 
I  sat  watching,  with  my  brother,  • 

To  look  for  him  in  the  lane, 
Where  he  used  to  meet  my  mother, 

And  then  greet  us  all  again  ; 
For,  bless  God,  he'd  got  religion  ! 

And  ran  home  to  help  us  read  : 
Yet,  remember,  in  that  region, 

Reading  slaves  all  masters  dread. 
O,  'twas  blessed  to  behold  him — 

He  was  an  uncommon  slave  ! 
But  for  this  his  master  sold  him, 

Sold  him  to  a  silent  grave  ! 
Such  a  Sunday  night  of  sorrow 

I  had  never  seen  before  : 
Mother  sent  me  on  the  morrow 

To  inquire — evermore  ! 
All  the  word  we  heard  about  him 

Was,  "  the  nigger  has  been  sold." 


136       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTEJS. 

Though  we  could  not  live  without  him, 

"His  master'd  got  a  heap  o'  gold!" 
Soon,  too,  we  were  sold  asunder  ; 

Some  went  south,  and  some  went  west ; 
Bach  was  left  for  life  to  wonder 

What  was  done  with  all  the  rest. 
We  were  sold  away  from  "mamma," 

All  as  yet  of  tender  years; 
I  was  sent  to  Alabama, 

At  but  five,  in  bitter  tears. 
How  I  wept  the  world  ne'er  heeded  ; 

How  I  felt,  no  friend  could  know  ; 
What  I  wanted,  what  I  needed, 

Was  some  great  heart  where  to  go  ; 

There  to  bury  all  my  wroe. 


A    LEGEND    OF   TWIN   LAKES. 


137 


SCENES    XXXVII. 

THE  SLAVE   STILL  TELLS   OF   SUNDERED   TIES. 

My  new  home  had  now  one  warm  heart — 

An  old  wench  that  used  to  weep 
For  her  children — sold  for  most  part, 

Where  she  could  no  traces  keep. 
Still  she  had  one  daughter  growing, 

Of  whose  sale  none  could  presage  : 
She,  by  nature  bright  and  knowing, 
Was  apparently  my  age. 

I  was  sent  to 

picking  cotton ; 
She,  too,  worked  out 

much  the  same, 
And  those  long  days, 

ne'er  forgotten, 
Won  at  length 

our  wedded  name ; 
And  our  Heavenly 

Father  sent  us 
Wisdom  to  enjoy 

his  word, 
That  when  little  ones 

were  lent  us, 
We  should  lend  them 

to  the  Lord. 
I  can't  tell  you  who  there  taught  us, 

Nor  this  item  do  you  need  ; 
But  'twas  not  the  man  that  bought  us, 

Taught  us  both  to  write  and  read  ! 
He  sold  our  teacher  to  a  villian, 
A  libertine  he  knew  was  bad, 
Which  made  all  hands  seem  mad  and  sullen — 
Such  wrongs  will  make  both  mad  and  sad. 
18 


138        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,    THE)   KING   OF  UTES. 

Then  soon  I  saw  he  meant  to  sell  me, 

Whence  I  knew  his  reasons  why ; 
Nor  his  terms  would  he  yet  tell  me, 

Lest  I  try  myself  to  buy. 
Soon  "a  gentleman  of  honor" 

Bought  my  body  and  my  soul, 
But  left  my  wife  with  woes  upon  her 

Christ's  own  cross  could  scarce  console — 

A  secret  note  soon  told  the  whole. 
She  remained  'mid  cruel  mercies 

Of  the  man  that  meanly  sold 
Our  slave  teacher,  where  the  curses 

Of  God's  wrath  must  rust  his  gold  ; 
But  my  "  Senator  "  assured  me 

I  might  on  his  word  rely, 
For  he'd  even  now  procured  me 

Ways  for  me  myself  to  buy. 
-So,  in  hope,  I  hid  my  sadness 

O'er  the  scene  of  my  last  sale, 
And  to  Congress  went  with  gladness  ; 

And  "hereby  there  hangs  a  tale" — 
My  new  master  was  the  "  Member  ;  " 

I,  his  servant,  as  you  see  ; 
And  one  long  night  in  December 

He  "went  wild"  and  wagered  me. 
A  real  reckless,  ruthless  rambler 

Won  me  in  two  wicked  games. 
My  new  master  now,  the  gambler, 

Knew  a  score  of  scoundrel  names  ; 
But  his  best  one  was  "  Hugh  Borgia," 

And  he  bragged  about  his  "  books  " 
And  his  journeys  "down  to  Georgia," 

And  was  glad  of  my  "good  looks;  " 
But  said  such  was  Southran's  loathing 

I'd  please  best  if  dressed  more  plain  ; 
-So,  he  cleft  off  my  man-clothing, 

And  clapped  on  me  a  gown  and  chain  ! 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  J39 

Then  I  rushed  to  the  Rotunda, 

Pouring  out  with  pondrous  breath, 
In  a  voice  like  very  thunder  : 

"  Give  me  liberty  or  death  !  ! !  " 
Then  I  shook  my  chain  and  shouted  : 

"Hail  Columbia,  happy  land  !  " 
Till  my  shout  the  Senate  routed, 

And  I  saw  them  startled  stand  ; 
Then  both  high  and  loud  I  uttered  : 

"Hail  Columbia,  happy  land !  " 
Then  I  clanked  my  chain  and  muttered  : 

"HAIL  COLUMBIA,  HAPPY  LAND!" 
Then  I  snapped  my  chain  asunder, 

Flung  it  on  the  marble  floor, 
And  while  all  looked  on  with  wonder, 
I  rushed  out  the  round  Rotunda 
Through  the  westward  open  door 
And  they  never  saw  me  more  ! 

Though  they  searched  the  city  o'er 
And  the  country,  as  of  yore, 
They  have  never  seen  me  more  ! 
Here,  King  Konkapat,  excited, 
Still  exhausted,  still  delighted, 

Said:     Reveal  the  whole,  I  pray  ; 
How  you  hid  yourself  away  ; 
How  you  came  so  far  away— 
But  I'm  dazed  and  sore  distressed, 
Weak  with  wonder,  I  want  rest ; 
I/ike  the  moon  sunk  down  the  west ; 
Take  us  rest,  then  tell  the  rest  ! 


140        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES    XXXVIII. 

FROM  THE  CRY  AT  THE  CAPITOL  TO  THE  CAVE  OF  KONKAPUT.. 

Through  the  night  the  Ute  now  rested, 

Then  his  interest  he  attested 
By  request  there  be  repeated, 
The  account,  that  sketch  completed  : 

So  Zinziba,  ever  zealous, 

Told  them  all,  as  he  shall  tell  us: 

(ZINZIBA  ENDS  HIS  STORY) 

There's  no  story  need  seem  novel 

That  is  true  as  honest  art ; 
Washington  has  many  a  hovel 

Which  contains  a  Christian  heart ; 
And  to  such  I  hied  for  shelter, 

Was  kept  safe  to  Christmas  eve, 
Saw  police  run  helter  skelter, 

Knowing  not  whom  to  believe. 
But  I  am  a  splendid  dreamer, 

And  my  dreams  read  like  a  book  ; 
In  my  sleep,  a  New  York  steamer, 

Called  for  a  skilled  colored  cook, 
So  next  day — and  nothing  doubting 

I'd  soon  be  the  boy  they  sought — 
I  set  out,  'mong  newsboys  shouting : 

"Th'  escaped  wench  is  not  yet  caught !  "" 
I  soon  sailed  as  simple  stoker 

In  a  steamer,  to  New  York, 
With  as  jaunty  a  mate  and  joker 

As  e'er  came  from  Erin's  Cork  ; 
Found  the  "Californian"  ready, 

When  we  passed  her  at  the  pier  ; 
As  I  stepped  forth,  stout  and  steady, 

The  mate  called  :  "Cap,  your  cook  is  here ! 5> 
Several  trips  to  San  Francisco 

With  this  captain,  wise  and  kind, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  141 

Bland  and  cool  as  Count  Bodisco, 

Made  my  place  much  please  my  mind ; 
Till  one  day  some  gambling  ramblers — 

Such  as  won  me  once  at  cards — 
Came  on  board,  real  southern  gamblers, 

And  watched  me  with  their  warm  regards. 
-So  I  started  and  sought  station 

"Underground"  to  Oregon, 
Toward  that  free  and  friendly  nation, 

Which  I'll  find  soon,  farther  on. 
Thus  I  found  this  fellow  mortal, 

Suiciding  in  the  sea, 
Passing  down  through  death's  dark  portal, 

Where  I  almost  wished  to  be  ! 
O,  thou  deep  and  dear  old  ocean, 

Well  it  was  that  thou  didst  weep; 
Kver  desolate — devotion — 

Thy  undoubted  heart  is  deep  ! 
And  this  land,  on  which  we  languish, 

Full  of  cruel  beasts,  can  feel, 
And  fain  bless  our  bleeding  anguish, 

Which  no  heart  nor  hand  can  heal ! 
I  would  sooner  die  than  sever 

The  dear  ties  more  strong  than  death  : 
But  who  knows  such  deaths  shall  never 

Bear  to  burdens  worse  beneath  ! 
Self  destruction,  so  delusive, 

Is  the  worst  of  wicked  crimes  ; 
God-defiant,  self-abusive, 

'Tis  the  terror  of  all  times, 

If  there  be  eternity. 

0  my  friends,  why  do  you  fear  me  ! 

I  am  telling  what  is  true  ; 
Then  still  hear  me,  come  all  near  me, 
Though  my  story  is  not  new. 

1  have  been  of  all  bereaved — 

Of  my  sire,  myself,  may  say  ; 


142        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTES. 

All  life  long  have  been  aggrieved, 

Here  may  be  caught  on  any  day. 
I  am  hunted  on  these  mountains 

I/ike  a  partridge  of  the  wood  ; 
Faint,  I  dare  not  seek  for  fountains, 

Starved,  can  go  nowhere  for  food. 
If  I  may  but  reach  the  borders, 

Find  Canadia's  friendly  home, 
I'll  soon  earn  and  issue  orders 

That  my  slave  wife  thither  come  ! 
Then  our  little  son  and  daughter 

Shall  take  wings  and  with  her  fly, 
Over  lands  and  o'er  lake  water — 

We'll  be  free,  all,  by  and  by  ! 
'Tis  this  hope  that  nerves  and  thrills  me  * 

And  that  freedom  is  not  far  ; 
Sometimes  fear  of  capture  fills  me — 

Hope  deferred's  hard  by  despair  ! 
This  love  struggle's  long  and  fearful, 

111  beset  by  fates  and  foes  ; 
And  its  chances,  cheerful,  tearful, 

Are  worse  filled  with  fears  than  woes. 
But  the  sweet  and  bitter  mingle 

Till  the  best  of  all 's  untold  ; 
I  could  tell  you  tales  that  tingle 

Bvery  heart  that  will  behold — 

Fathers,  mothers  bought  and  sold  ! 
I  could  show  you  a  slave  shanty, 

Where  oppressors  have  heard  prayer,. 
Scant  in  learning,  language  scanty, 

Yet  that  haunts  them  everywhere  ; 
And  I've  heard  slave-holders  saying, 

"There  are  stations  in  free  States 
Where  our  friends  'railroads'  are  laying 

'Under  ground'  with  all  'through  rates.'  "" 
Chattel  women  with  their  children 

Are  well  carried,  without  cost, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  .  14& 

Safe  across  Niagara's  cauldron, 

In  which  all  their  chains  are  lost ; 
While  the  roaring  of  that  river 

Drowns  the  baying  of  blood  hounds, 
And  the  free  are  free  forever 

In  Great  Britain's  hunting  grounds  ! 

[Said  the  Ute  :  (<O  how  you  cheer  me  !" 
But  Zinziba  said :  "  Still  hear  me  !"] 

What  is  made  by  blaming  white  men  ? 

Some  are  good  and  some  are  bad, 
And  much  less  is  made  to  fight  men  ; 

Such  means  surely  make  more  sad. 
Come  starvation,  cold,  disasters, 

The  worst  burdens  that  will  be  ; 
I've  far  more,  then,  than  my  masters — 

My  Heavenly  Father  holds  me  free  ! 
We  must  wait  on  God  and  good  men, 

Till  redemption's  time  shall  rise, 
When  the  great  men  and  the  good,  then. 

All  shall  hark  to  hear  the  cries 
Pleading  loud  from  each  plantation, 

As  they  echo  from  the  skies 
And  resound  o'er  all  the  nation, 

Mingling  wails  of  martyrs'  woe 
With  God's  grander  indignation, 

Saying:  "  Let  my  people  go! 

Or  your  realm  I'll  overthrow  !" 
I  see  rising  subject  races, 

Waking  up  to  improve  well 
Earnest  plans  in  useful  places, 

With  the  fruits  of  toil  to  sell. 
Then  high  braves  and  hated  half-breeds — 

Reached  and  rescued  by  my  race — 
Shall  do  loving  and  real  life  deeds, 

Shall  even  grow  in  Christian  grace. 


144   YOUNG  KONKA.PUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

As  you  rise  with  me,  young  red  man, 

So  will  dawn  a  wiser  day  ; 
As  yourself,  though  once  a  dead  man, 

Shall  have  wealth  in  heaven's  own  way  ; 
So  both  red  and  black  together, 

Will  enjoy  one  jubilee  ; 
Come  what  will  of  wind  and  weather, 

All  the  world  will  yet  be  free ; 

And  may  we  survive  to  see. 

Royally  the  Ute  arises, 

Listening  to  Zinziba's  rhyme, 
Till  the  savage  saint  surprises 

Even  rough  sailors  at  the  time  ; 
All  unite  in  undertaking 

To  shed  light  upon  the  right ; 
For  a  brighter  day  is  breaking — 

Lo  !   the  future's  full  of  light ; 

See  how  seraphs  cheer  the  sight ! 


SCENES    xxxix. 

THE    SAILORS   HAIL  A  SHIP   AHOY. 

The  six  rough  tars  then  sat  around, 

All  sympathizing  with  the  slaves, 
Until  the  place  seemed  holy  ground  ; 

When,  lo !  behold  above  the  waves, 
A  white  sail,  sitting  on  the  wind, 

And  rocking  o'er  the  ocean's  rim, 
A  little  toward  the  land  inclined, 

In  deep  horizons,  hazy,  dim  ! 
O  !  something  must  attract  that  sail, 

That  it  shall  the  wrecked  sailors  see 
A  signal  fire  might  soon  avail — 

Lo  !  it  is  lighted  instantly  ! 
Kven  their  hut  itself  is  used  ; 

It  flares  up  bold  as  beacon  flames  — 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  145 

Naught,  indeed,  could  be  refused — 

Now  soon  they  see  two  vessels'  names. 
"The  Alaquippa,  of  Savannah," 

Was  painted  plainly  on  her  prow  ; 
They  saw,  as  sinking,  "The  Susannah  ;  " 

She  bore  "  New  Bedford"  on  her  bow. 
Since  from  that  city  seemed  the  sailors, 

They  hardest  tried  that  ship  to  hail  ;, 
But  she's  borne  off  'mong  the  whalers, 

And  out  of  sight  soon  sank  her  sail. 
But  the  Savannah's  Alaquippa 

Was  for  a  swift,  mad  slaver  made  ; 
Was  classed  as  a  clean  windward  clipper. 

But  hired  to  try  Hawaiian  trade. 
As  she  beholds  that  burning  shanty, 

Sees  it's  some  wrecked  sailors'  sign — 
Although  the  harborage  is  scanty — 

She  designates  her  kind  design. 
She  turns  her  sail  toward  the  signal ; 

Bears  her  length  along  the  beach  ; 
And  so  near  the  bluff's  diag'nal 

That  a  cable-rope  can  reach. 
But  mark  !    The  slave  flies  'mid  the  flurry — 

Bscapes,  with  Konkaput  and  fear  ; 
Nor  have  the  sailors,  in  their  hurry, 

Exposed  his  chance  by  parting  cheer  ! 
Well  the  life-boat,  buoyed  with  laughter, 

Bears  the  tars,  both  one  and  all ; 
Nor  heard  the  slave  and  Ute  thereafter 

What  kind  of  fate  did  them  befall. 
Some  saved  utensils,  tools  and  food 

They  left,  forgotten,  on  the  shore  ; 
God  chanced  this  for  his  children's  good 

Till  they  could  get  themselves  some  more.. 
So  now  the  savage  said :     "Near  by  us 

Has  Nature  carved  out  a  nice  cave, 

19 


146   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  that  shall  shelter  soon  supply  us, 
Holding  such  things  as  we  can  save. 

Indeed,  it's  like  an  old  'cliff  dwelling' 
Made  in  the  sides  of  Rocky  Mountains, 

Where  swift,  pure  streams  below  are  swelling, 
Fed  by  the  near  and  nameless  fountains. 


There  let  us  go  and  live  together  ; 

Take  all  the  things  the  sailors  left ; 
And,  in  whatever  kind  of  weather, 

We  will  not  be  of  all  bereft." 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  147 

Zinziba  sighed  :     "  But,  I'm  a  slave  !  " 
Yet  they  went  there,  both  slave  and  brave, 
And  as  they  came  into  that  cave 
Found  it  had  grown  "still  as  the  grave  !  " 


SCENES    XL. 

THE   RESCUED   GAMBLER   IS   THEIR   GUEST  ; 
SICK  IN  BODY,  SEEKING  REST. 

The  Ute  and  slave  went  slowly  (hear  them  !) 

Talking,  walking,  laden,  going, 
Where  will  fiercest  wild  beasts  fear  them  ; 

Where  the  weeks  and  waters  flowing 
And  much  chastened  thoughts  to  cheer  them, 

And  both  blasts  and  blossoms  blowing, 
Shall  wait  on  their  lonely  waiting — 

Both,  forsooth,  about  the  same, 
Each  to  each  their  lives  restating, 

Helping  God  to  give  them  game, 
While  he  rules  all  things  relating  ; 

Even,  called  hither,  hunters  came, 

Aye,  borne  hither,  Borgia  came, 

A  man  now  nobler  than  his  name  ! 

A  wise  and  skilled  surveyor,  sick  and  worn, 
Sank  in  his  march,  one  hot  mid-summer  morn  ; 
Then  sought  a  welcome  in  the  savage  cave, 
And  there  was  served  and  watched  by  his  own 

slave  ; 

Till  he  was  healed,  a  happy  man  and  hale, 
By  such  fidelities  as  seldom  fail ; 
And  then  and  thus  he  spoke  of  all  the  wrong 
He'd  done  the  tribes  to  which  his  hosts  belong. 
He  said  :     ' '  My  "benefactors,  do  not  fear 
For  any  words  of  mine  you  now  may  hear. 
I  am  a  'Southran,'  from  the  Sunny  South ; 
My  birth  and  home  were  near  Savannah's  mouth, 


148       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 

Where  cotton,  rice  and  corn,  and  sugar  cane 

Are  raised,  and  ships  sail  forth  upon  the  main. 

I've  been  a  slaver  of  the  deepest  die  ; 

John  Newton  ne'er  was  so  unjust  as  I. 

He  sailed  for  captives  of  the  Congo  race, 

But  was  recaptured  by  reclaiming  grace  ; 

Nor  owed  he  half  so  much  to  heavenly  care 

And  human  patience,  piety  and  prayer. 

I've  wronged  and  ruined  those  who  did  me  good  ; 

Have  sometimes  sacrificed  their  sinless  blood  ; 

Even  my  own  blood  is  coursing  in  the  veins 

Of  some  whom  I  enslaved  and  put  in  chains. 

I  gambled  also  for  most  guileless  men, 

And  put  them  fettered  in  my  filthy  pen. 

One  time  in  Washington  I  played  and  won 

A  Nubian  princess'  first  born,  noble  son  ; 

And  so  well  bound,  well  bred,  well  read  was  he, 

He  quoted  Henry's  cry  for  Liberty ; 

And  though  I  saw  him  but  a  single  day 

I  heard  him  both  for  me  and  freedom  pray  ! 

I  never  can,  until  my  latest  breath, 

Forget :  'God  give  me  liberty  or  death  !' 

He  burst  his  bonds,  like  tow,  in  open  day, 

In  the  Rotunda,  and  then  ran  away." 

"And,  you've  not  seen  him  since?"  Zinziba  asked  : 

"  I  may  have  seen  him,  sometime,  but  so  masked 
I  did  not  know  him  ;  more,  I  made  him  wear 
A  wench's  gown,  he  was  so  good  and  fair; 
I  wished  to  have  him  act  as  chamber  maid, 
For  he  had  friends  of  whom  I  felt  afraid. 
But  this  disguise  embarassed  me  the  more — 
By  what  he  really  was  and  what  he  wore. 
Although  I  searched  for  him  with  ceaseless  care,. 
I  heard  no  hint  of  him,  nor  here  nor  there  ; 
Yet  he  was  with  me,  always,  everywhere, 
And  pressed  upon  my  heart  his  hands  in  prayer 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  149 

At  length  I  said  :  f  I  am  myself  the  slave  !' 
I  sighed  and  groaned  for  silence  in  the  grave  ! 
But  soon  I  sought  to  be  from  sin  set  free, 
And  by  redeeming  love  reached  liberty  ! 
I  realized  Christ's  claim  to  creature  things 
And  that  He  promotes  slaves  to  priests  and  kings  ; 
So  every  soul,  from  saint  to  seraphim, 
Receives  full  title  to  himself  from  Him. 
For  Him  I  set  my  stolen  servants  free  ; 
For  Him  desired  their  noblest  destiny  ; 
And  did,  to  make  them  all  free  men  indeed, 
Wreak  human  laws  to  help  them  learn  to  read. 
I  sold  plantations,  ships  and  silver-plate, 
To  buy  and  start  them  homes  in  a  free  State, 
And  gave  the  best  I  had  choice  goods  to  buy 
For  them  ;  for  they  had  then  worse  fare  than  I ! 
I  knew  the  navigation  of  the  seas, 
And  so  I  learned  surveying  soon,  with  ease  ; 
Hence,  came  to  Oregon  by  'Gunter's  right ' 
With  chain  and  compass  and  theodolite, 
To  help  define  this  distant,  fair  domain, 
Of  mountain,  wood,  and  wide,  well  watered  plain  ; 
And  here  I  found  your  hermitage  so  kind, 
With  all  so  suited  to  a  sick  man's  mind  ! 
Aye,  I  could  almost  ask  your  auto-card 
To  match  with  those  of  Monks  of  St.  Bernard  ; 
For  though  I  served  in  the  Satanic  war 
Against  the  Seminoles,  but  slaves  fought  for, 
And  cursing  savages,  my  cold  heart  said  : 
'No  Indian's  ever  good  till  he  is  dead,' 
And  I  have  sinned  against  your  kin  still  more, 
Such  plans  and  deeds  I  deeply  now  deplore  ! 
Forgive  me,  brothers  !    May  God  bless  you  both  ! 
I'm  bound  to  every  race  by  birth  and  oath  ; 
So  I,  with  Yoke,  join  heart  and  voice  to  say : 
'God  speed  the  right,  and  haste  the  happy  day, 
When  Afric's  long  enslaved  sons 


150   YOUNG  KONKAPUT.  THE  KING  OF  UTE&. 

Shall  join  with  every  injured  race, 
To  celebrate,  in  blended  tongues, 

The  gladness  of  redeeming  grace  ; 
When  North  and  South,  from  place  to  place, 

Emanuel's  kingdom  shall  extend, 
And  every  man  in  every  face 

Shall  meet  a  brother  and  a  friend ! ' 
My  love  to  others  all  the  more  extends 

For  your  compassion  ;  ye've  preserved  my  life  f 
Ye  are  my  brothers  !  my  brave  Christian  friends  I 

In  me  ye've  blessed,  indeed,  my  distant  wife  ! 
I  shall  delight  to  show  all  kindness  due 
For  special  deeds  so  kind,  displayed  by  you. 
Reluctantly  I'll  leave  your  lone  retreat, 
Where  I  have  found  both  medicine  and  meat, 
Where  friends  in  need,  such  friends  indeed,  have 

been  ; 

Far  more  to  me  than  hosts  of  armed  men  ; 
Where  simple  nature  seems  so  noble,  too, 
And  we  can  learn  how  little  here  will  do  ! 
Indeed,  I  wonder  how  this  world  affords, 
So  good  a  building,  without  bricks  or  boards, 
So  large  a  landscape  with  so  little  lost, 
So  many  comforts  at  such  meagre  cost, 
Such  shade  in  summer  from  the  sheltering  hill, 
Such  even  warmth  in  autumn's  wintry  chill, 
Such  varied  wisdom,  viewed  in  every  way, 
Such  wise  display  and  wonderful  array, 
That  where  we  stand  one  might  well  wish  to  stay ; 
And  my  departure  now  desires  delay. 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  151 

SCENES    XLI. 

A  DISCLOSURE  ERE  HIS  DEPARTURE. 

'The  Fugitives'  Retreat" — so  fit  for  rest, 
So  blameless  all,  and  to  the  sick  so  blessed — 
This  "home"  that  divine  Nature  had  "dug  out," 
With  playful  beasts  and  plumed  birds  about, 
Where  blithesome  squirrels  bark  at  the  bluejays 
And  neighboring  fountains  purl  through  nights 

and  days ; 

Where  fish  and  flesh  and  fowl  are  amply  fed, 
And  lives  so  lovely  elsewhere  scarce  are  led — 
This  Borgia  left,  but  said  :     ' '  Before  I  go 
Mine  hosts,  please  tell  how  you  were  mated  so, 
And  if  you'll  trust  me  further  to  intrude, 
Explain  why  you  sought  out  this  solitude  ; 
For  ye're  not  outlaws  nor  ignoble  souls, 
Who've  fled  the  courts  to  where  110  law  controls  ; 
Be  frank,  I  pray,  and  tell  your  prudent  friend 
How  long  your  stay  has  been,  and  where  'twill 

end." 

Here  Konkaput,  replete  with  curt  reply, 
Says  simply  :     "I  am  here,  I  can't  tell  why  ; 
And  when  you  start  the  question,  why  we  stay, 
'Tis  answered  well :  We  can  not  get  away ! 
I  have  no  other  where  to  lay  my  head ; 
My  kindred  and  my  country,  too,  are  dead  ; 
And  with  no  kin  nor  country,  left  alone, 
This  is  the  only  spot  I  seem  to  own  ; 
And  this,  no  doubt,  though  a  secluded  den, 
Will  soon  be  seized  by  your  surveying  men  ; 
For  Indian  tribes  have  been  all  trodden  down 
Beneath  such  franchise  and  by  Heaven's  frown, 
Else  have  absorbed  their  ills  of  body,  or 
Have  wasted  one  another  in  their  war  ; 
Before  pale-faces  proved  a  feeble  prey, 
Till  our  poor  wild  men  have  most  passed  away  I 


152   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  I  have  seemed  as  if  sent  here  alone 

In  search  of  one  whose  life  or  death's  unknown ; 

Whom  stout  hands   stole  cff  from  the   burning 

stake, 

Where  savages  mad  sacrifices  make  ; 
And  where  those   hands  have   borne   her,    what 

may  be 

Her  lot,  I've  sought  so  long  in  vain  to  see  ! 
I  linger  here  in  hope  to  share  her  life  ; 
For  she,  as  Queen  of  Utes,  should  be  my  wife ! 
I've  left  among  the  rocky  highlands  steep 
A  few  wild  braves,  who  brigand  watches  keep, 
And  would,  no  doubt,  indeed  for  her  and  me, 
Both  fight  and  seek  to  find  and  set  us  free  ; 
But  in  my  search  I've  seen  such  savage  strife, 
I  loathe  the  bitterness  of  bestial  life  ; 
Where  boys  are  bred  barbarians  from  their  birth, 
And  woman's  thought  the  weakest  thing  of  earth. 
Where  wives*  are  prostituted  for  a  price, 
And  children  are  destroyed  by  unchaste  vice, 
Till  Indian  blood  is  blasted  with  decay — 
Of  wickedness,  the  prey  in  every  way — 
It  is  enough  to  make  one  sick  at  heart, 
And  sigh  for  desert  life  till  he  depart ! 
Behold  this  negro — the  best  friend  I  have  ; 
But  for  his  grace,  you  sea  had  been  my  grave  !  " 


*  Brigadier-General  Carleton  said  to  a  committee  of  congress, 
1865:  "Prostitution  prevails  among  the  Nayajos,  Maricopas  and 
Yurnas,  Cherokees,  Seminoles,  Potawattamies,  Pawnees,  Sioux, 
Arapahoes,  Cheyennes  and  Kiowas,  and  their  children  are  en- 
feebled. The  attendant  diseases  of  prostitution  have  tainted  the 
blood  of  the  adults,  and  by  inheritance  the  children  have  become 
emaciated  in  body  and  mind."  General  Sprague  says  to  the 
same:  "  In  thus  striking  at  the  very  basis  of  procreation  is  to  be 
found  the  active  cause  of  the  destruction  of  the  Indian  race." 
And  Senator  Nesmith,  sent  to  inspect  the  tribes  on  the  Pacific 
coast,  which  Konkaput  is  supposed  to  have  seen,  said:  "Their 
favorite  occupations  were,  gathering  berries,  catching  fish,  prosti- 
tuting their  women,  gambling  and  getting  drunk."  (See  Con- 
gressional Report,  1867.) 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  153 

Here  speaks  Zinziba,  with  a  special  zest : 
My  Master  Borgia,  how  you  have  been  blessed ! 
I've  heard  your  story  with  astonished  heart, 
With  trembling  fears  my  trickling  tears   would 

start, 

When  you  described  me  in  that  wench's  dress, 
And  praying  heaven  my  master's  heart  to  bless  ! 
I  beg  God  now  to  bring  my  wife  and  brood, 
Where  you  may  give  us  home  and  guard  our  good! 

(Borgia.} 

Why"Zin!"  why"Zebe!"  this  really  is  not  you ! 
(Said  Borgia  here  ;)  and  yet  it  must  be  true, 
That  lo,  indeed,  I  see  this  longed-for  day — 
And  my  redeemer  in  my  run-away  ! 

(Zinziba.} 

Yes,  Master  Borgia,  I  must  be  the  man — 
1Twas  really  I  that  for  my  freedom  ran  : 
And  be  it  understood,  I  would  do  good 
To  all  earth's  brotherhood,  if  I  but  could ! 

(Borgia} 

'Tis  so,  I  see  ;  when  I  was  sick  and  sore, 
And  you  so  kind  to  me  with  care,  'twas  more 
Than  once  impressed  upon  my  watchful  thought 
That  you  were  that  lost  slave  I  long  had  sought ; 
And  now,  Zinziba,  both  for  Zion  bound, 
We'll  sing:  "The  dead's  alive,  the  lost  is  found!  " 
Yourself,  your  family,  are  henceforth  free ! 
The  lord  himself  shall  seal  your  liberty ! 
I  am  most  sure  our  Maker  has  the  means 
To  bring  Zinziba's  brood,  and  break  the  chains. 

And  as  for  Konkaput,  this 'kingly  Ute, 
I  heard  of  your  Queen  squaw  upon  my  route, 
And  that  she  was  not  taken  further  west, 
Nor  was  again  restored  lo  her  wild  nest, 
Among  the  Eagle  Eyries  'round  Pike's  Peak, 


154    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

But  east,  for  "special  culture,"  so  they  speak  [ 

The  story  told  me  on  the  range  was  this : 

A  Cheyenne  chief  had  caught  and  chose  as  his- 

A  Rocky  Mountain  squaw,  Ute  maiden  rare, 

And  forced  her  first  to  almost  fell  despair; 

Then  sold  her  to  the  fierce  Arapahoes, 

They  to  the  Sioux,  (or  so  the  story  goes), 

Until  at  length,  all  tired  of  one  still  chaste, 

And  told  her  at  the  stake  her  troth  to  test. 

That  she  was  brought  and  bravely  stood  the  shock; 

For,  standing  by  the  stake,  still  firm  as  rock, 

She  faced  the  faggots  and  then  faced  her  foes  ; 

But  at  this  instant,  (as  the  story  goes), 

Some  pioneers  were  passing  on  their  way, 

Who  heard  of  her,  before  the  fatal  day, 

Hastened  forth  to  hail  the  nearest  fort, 

And  gave  the  commandant  the  grave  report. 

This  consternation  caused,  at  once,  of  course, 

Whence  soldiers  were  dispatched  in  special  force, 

Who  bore  her  from  the  burning  stake,  alive, 

And  sent  her  East,  such  culture  to  receive  ; 

Where  educators  care  for  every  race, 

And  where  she  was  procured  a  proper  place 

With  patrons  who  will  every  want  provide, 

And  be  the  best  of  counsellors  beside. 

This  rare  report  reached  me  upon  the  range. 

And  is  so  striking — aye,  so  very  strange  ! 

And  yet  so  likely  to  be  largely  true, 

That  I'm  happy  to  have  told  it  you  ; 

And  if  this  be  indeed  your  beauteous  maid, 

Your  meeting  may  be  yet  by  my  own  aid. 

Here  Konkaput,  convulsed  with  joy,  replied: 
"How  glad,  indeed,  I  am  I  have  not  died!" 
Nor  Zinziba  his  new-born  hope  could  hide. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  155 

SCENES     XLIII. 

FROM   HERMITAGE  TO  COLLEGE   HALLS. 

The  scenes  here  change,  as  if  some  chance 

Had  turned  the  wheel  another  time  ; 
For  as  the  autumn  days  advance, 

And  mountain  sides  seem  most  sublime, 
Hugh  Borgia's  business  bade  him  hence  ; 

But,  by  his  wise  and  high  intent, 
Two  proteges,  at  his  expense, 

His  way-mates  o'er  the  mountains  went. 
By  land  and  stream  he  led  their  way 

To  the  established  lines  of  stage, 
^Wherein  his  purse  provides  to  pay 

Their  passage,  each  one  as  his  page, 
Till  all  arrive  in  West  Reserve, 

Where  pure  philanthropy  prevails, 
It's  sweetest  natures  never  swerve, 

And  no  fair  effort  ever  fails. 
But  here  Zinziba's  zigzag  name 

Suggests  the  kinks  seen  in  the  course 
Of  other  fugitives,  who  came 

And  fancied  freedom  theirs,  perforce  ; 
For  in  his  town  of  Wellington,  * 

A  pleasant  and  propitious  place, 
Dispatches  came  from  Washington 

Arresting  several  of  his  race. 
Yet  Borgia,  by  support  of  Heaven, 

Fulfilled  throughout  his  faithful  oath  ; 
The  goodly  promise  he  had  given 

To  bond  and  Ute,  to  aid  them  both. 
Young  Konkaput,  the  Ute  and  King, 

Commands  at  once  his  loving  care  ; 


*  Wellington  is  a  town  in  northern  Ohio,  where  several 
fugitive  slaves  were  sought,  and  those  who  assisted  them  were 
thrown  into  prison .  This  town  was  adjacent  to  Oberlin,  where 
is  the  famous  abolition  college. 


156       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE)   KING   OF  UT1JS. 

The  "Burg  of  Didyinus"  would  bring 

Such  Indian  boys  to  be  taught  there  : 
Hence,  at  "Twinsburg"  would  Borgia  call  ; 

And  if  Shawsheen' were  sheltered  near 
In  Mission  School  or  Maiden's  Hall, 

Her  name  and  fame  would  be  known  here. 
But  naught  is  heard,  nor  hint  nor  word, 

Of  the  Ute  captive,  or  Ute  race  ; 
And  Konkaput,  with  hope  deferred. 

Pleads  to  be  sent  some  other  place, 
Where  he  can  meet  with  cultured  mind  ; 

He  can  not  bide  wild  boys  in  cage, 
For  he  is  to  clear  thought  inclined, 

And  manly,  far  more  than  his  age 
It  was  hence  planned  in  Providence, 

That  he  should  for  Shawsheen  proceed, 
With  little  pause  and  less  expense, 

Where  youth  reflect  as  well  as  read  ; 
So  the  sad  wanderer  soon  went 

Where  Oberlin's*  immortal  fame 
Lives  in  that  lasting  monument, 

A  Christian  College  in  his  name. 
There  mingle  almost  every  race, 

In  happy  class  and  classic  hall, 
To  give  and  get  both  wit  and  grace, 

In  notions  that  ennoble  all — 
Yet  here  Shawsheen 's  a  name  unknown  ; 

But  still  he  stays  to  write  and  read, 
And  lives  a  silent  life  and  lone, 

With  one  dear  friend,  a  friend  indeed. 
For  he  is  drawn  for  special  drill 

To  "  Tutor  Mercer"  twice  a  week, 


*  Oberlin  College  was  named  after  Father  Oberlin,  a  dis- 
tinguished vSwiss  philanthropist  and  scholar.  The  place  was 
some  fifty  miles  from  Twinsburg,  where  Rev.  Mr.  Bissel  had  his 
school  for  Indian  boys. 


OF  TWIN 

To  try  his  composition  skill 

And  learn  like  Cicero  to  speak. 

Here  Konkaput  was  soon  expert ; 
One  essay  was  esteemed  so  wise 

That  it  was  published  for  desert 

And  promptly  won  an  honored  prize. 


157 


Though  lean  of  flesh  and  lined  with  care 
'Twas  grand  to  see  him  on  the  stand, 
The  vast  assemblages  command, 
By  manly  thought  and  modest  air : 
(This  sketch  seems  cut  by  some  one  there.) 


158    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

His  paraphrase  of  Pushamata,* 
Greeting  the  great  La  Fayette, 

Was  musical  as  a  cantata, 

As  those  who  heard  him  ne'er  forget. 

KONKAPUT' S   PARAPHRASE   TO   LA   FAYETTE. 

Fifty  snows  have  passed  away 

Since  you  drew  the  willing  sword, 
Helping  of  your  own  accord 

Washington  to  win  the  day  ; 

Fought  with  him  fair  Freedom's  foes, 
For  her  shed  your  generous  blood  ; 
Hand  to  hand  with  him  you  stood, 

Sharing  all  his  country's  woes. 

Now  you  come  to  see  once  more 
Lands  that  honor  you  and  love, 
Grateful  peoples  to  approve, 

Whose  children  cherish  and  adore. 

We  have  heard  with  hearty  mind, 
In  the  densest  forest  shades, 
And  along  the  everglades, 

Of  your  efforts  for  mankind. 

I  have  burned,  with  warm  desire, 
Here  to  take  you  by  the  hand  ; 
As  your  loving  brother  stand, 

And  help  kindle  Freedom's  fire. 

We  are  met  !  I'm  satisfied  ! 

The  first  time,  as  'tis  the  last : 
My  day  of  life  will  soon  be  past : 

The  Great  Spirit  be  your  guide  ! — 

On  that  week  this  Sachem  died ; 

And  for  him  great  statesmen  mourn, 
As  the  Indif  n  corse  is  borne 

To  their  buried  brothers'  side. 


*  Pushamata  was  a  pious  Choctaw  Chief  who  went  to  the 
city  of  Washington  to  see  L,a  Fayette,  and  was  buried  there  with 
military  honors  in  the  National  Cemetery. 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES.  159 

SCENES    XLIH. 

KONKAPUT'S   APPEAL   UPON    GOD'S   GREAT   QUESTIONS. 

'Where  art  thon?"     "  What  hast  thou  done?"     "Where  is  thy 
brother  ?"     "What  doest  thou  here?" 

Jehovah's  first  questions,  so  full  and  concise, 

Though  ages  ago,  are  still  earnestly  asked  : 
"Where  art  thou?  "  still  echoes  from  earth's  Para- 
dise, 
And  ' '  Where  is  thy  brother  ? ' '    can  never  be 

masked. 

I  hear  God,  now,  coming  in  the  cool  of  the  day, 
And  asking  "  Where  are  you?  "  in  time  and  in 

place. 
O,  heed  ye  his  presence  and  searching,  I  pray, 

Nor  hide  ye  in  fe  ir  from  the  light  of  his  face. 
He  knows  where  you  are ;  and  he  wants  you  to 

know, 
And  consider  the  claims  of  your  country  and 

age  ; 

For  naught  more  important  to  mortals  below 
Can  ever  their  thoughtful  attention  engage. 
* '  Where  art  thou  ?"    "  Where  art  thou  ?  "    I  hear 

him  now  say, 

On  the  face  of  the  globe,  in  the  forces  of  time  ; 
No  age  and  no  nation  surpassed  yours  to-day  ; 

And  here  to  live  rightly  is  royal,  sublime ! 
"What's  this  thou  hast  done?" — from  the  Omnis- 
cient One — 

Is  God's  inquisition  for  our  earliest  sin, 
The  "What"  of  our  deeds,  whatsoe'er  we  have 

done, 

Is  ringing  forever,  from  where  they  begin. 
Both  "  What  hast  thou  done  ?  "  and  "What  doest 

thou  here  ?  " 
Ring  out  from  the  regions  of  all  the  deep  past; 


160   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

"What? — doest  ? — thou? — here?"    for  aye  sounds 

in  the  ear, 
Since  our  lives  and  our  labors  live  on  to  the 

last. 
We  tread  on  the  springs  of  eternity's  hours  ; 

We  strike  upon  keys  that  forever  shall  trill; 
And  hold  in  our  hands  Heaven's  holiest  powers, 
When  the  wish  of  our  hearts  is  the  Heavenly 

will. 
' '  What— done  ? '  '—for  thyself  ?—' '  What ' '  at  home  ? 

"What"  abroad? 
"What — done"    for  thine   age?     "What"    for 

ages  to  come  ? 
"  What — done?  "  for  thy  neighbor,  thy  nation,  thy 

GOD?— 
What?  Done?  is  the  question;   the  answer  is 

dumb  ! 
"Where? — Where  is  thy  brother?"    and  who  may 

he  be? 

All  ages  and  races  together  are  tied 
In  this  land  of  the  brave,  and  this  home  of  the 

free  ; 

-  Here  all  men  are  brothers,  to  live  side  by  side  ; 
And  over  the  ages,  and  over  the  seas, 

A  union  of  hearts  and  a  union  of  hands, 
Must  bind  with  the  bonds  of  benignant  decrees 

Till  brothers  are  all  men,  in  all  times  and  lands. 
We  have  on  our  tables  the  harvests  and  tools 
Of  far  distant  peoples,  who  have  also  ours  ; 
We  have  in  our  hearts,  our  homes  and  our  schools 
The    products    of    ages,    their    precepts    and 

powers. 

As  deeds  of  the  past  are  all  potential  still, 
And  the  races  and  ages  related  as  one  ; 
As  our  works  are  for  aye,  for  weal  or  for  ill, 

What  we  do,  every  breath,  is  for  some  brother 
done. 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  161 

Who?"    "Where  is  thy  brother?"    I  breathe  it 
again— 

The   Saxon,   the  savage,    the    sovereign,    the 

slave, 
The  singing,  the  sighing,  the  suffering,  the  slain — 

Their  life-blood  cries  "Brother.!"  from   even 

the  grave. 
What  done  to  thy  brother?  " — to  my  doomed  race  ? 

I'll  show  you :    On  yonder   fair    sun-setting 

shore, 
The  last  and  lone  Indian  from  his  little  space, 

Is  plunging  the  ocean,  to  rise  never  more  ! 
Could  I  lift  from  his  bed  his  poor  lifeless  frame, 

And  hold  it  to  Heaven  in  sight  of  your  face, 
I'd  ask  in  humanity's — in  Heaven's  holy  name — 

Have  you  felt  like  a  brother  to  my  forlorn  race  ? 
Ye  waste  us,  aye,  like  April  snow, 

In  the  warm  sun  we  shrink  away  : 
And  fast  ye  follow  as  we  go 

Towards  the  setting  day — 
Till  ye  shall  fill  the  land,  and  we 
Are  driven  into  the  western  sea." 


162   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 


.SCENES 

THE   SEARCH   AGAIN   FOR    FAIR   SHAWSHEEX.. 

King  Konkaput  in  college  halls 

Came  off  with  honors  in  full  she  res, 
But  still  his  constant  nature  calls 

The  name  Shawsheen  in  thought  and  prayers.. 
Her  longing  look  that  morn  he  left 

With  the  fur  traders  far  to  go, 
Still  haunts  him,  like  a  home  bereft, 

Attended  with  her  later  woe. 
The  saddest  grief  that  sadder  grows, 

And  taxes  fancy's  farthest  scope, 
And  wakes  imaginary  woes, 

That  break  the  heart  of  buoyant  hope, 
And  make  a  lover  lone  and  mad, 

And  prematurely  wan  and  old, 
Is  the  suspense  —  the  saddest  sad  ! 

When  the  loved  one  is  stolen  or  sold 
And  still  no  tidings  can  be  had  ! 

His  friends  have  written  far  and  near 

To  find  some  trace  of  her,  if  but 
She  lives,  her  mode  of  life  to  hear, 

And  to  encourage  Konkaput. 
He  searched  the  catalogues  that  came 

From  East  and  West,  from  South  and  North, 
To  find  therein  her  favored  name  ; 

But  failed  to  see  and  bring  it  forth. 

He  left  the  seat  of  learning  then, 

Intent  on  finding  still  her  fate, 
And,  favored  by  forwarding  men, 

He  traveled  into  every  State 
Which  has  young  women's  institutes 

That  would  admit  within  their  walls. 
An  Indian  girl  —  the  Queen  of  Utes  — 

To  higher  culture  in  tlieir  halls. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  163 

He  went  even  down  to  Tennessee, 

And  found  in  Nashville  two,  by  name 
And  nature  such  as  she  might  be, 

Whose  finished  terms  were  of  first  fame. 
He  elsewhere  saw  a  young  Choctaw, 

Some  Seminoles  and  Senecas, 
Admitted  with  white  girls  to  draw 

From  wells  of  learning — all  with  praise  ; 
But  none  of  these  had  ever  heard 
Of  his  Shawsheen  a  single  word. 
'So  still  Shawsheen  no  one  has  seen  !  " 

He  sighed ;  then  to  New  Jersey  came. 
An  Omaha,  quite  like  his  Queen, 

Had  here  won  almost  world-wide  fame  ; 
But  still  Susette*  is  not  Shawsheen  ! 

Her  features  he  can  ne'er  forget, 
Though  many  changes  must  have  been 

In  her  appearance  since  they  met. 
But  yet  this  beauteous  bright-eyed  girl 

Who  gained  each  prize  above  her  classr 
With  eyes  of  jet  and  teeth  of  pearl — 

Indeed,  a  lovely  Indian  lass  ! — 
With  the  full  proverb,  sanis  mens 

In  sano  corpore  ct  Christo, 
Makes  his  old  longing  more  intense 

His  noble  Shawsheen 's  fate  to  know. 
It  startles  him,  while  standing  here, 

To  learn  of  Brainard's  Crosweeksung, 
That  Indian  Mission,  once  so  dear, 

To  which  fond  hopes  had  failing  clung  ; 
Of  Edwards,  too,  who  near  there  died, 

Whose  Stockbridge  page  illumed  the  age, 
E'en  while  engaged  as  Indians'  guide 

Their  savageness  to  help  assuage. 


*  This  Susette  Bright  Eyes  returned  and  became  a  great 
benefactress  to  her  tribe. 


164   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

He  hither  hastens  to  the  scene 

Where  that  sage  teacher  *  had  so  taught 
The  aborigines,  as  men, 

To  be,  and  act  as  mortals  ought ; 
And  here  he  feels  a  fiery  zeal 

To  be  a  famed  philanthropist, 
And  force  men  both  to  think  and  feel 

With  reas'nings  they  cannot  resist. 
His  admiration  of  such  men 

Knuobles  more  his  native  mind, 
And  everywhere  his  search  has  been 

Such  men  he  found  supremely  kind. 
This  also  his  affections  won, 

Until— as  consorts  come  to  look 
The  more  alike  as  they  move  on — 

So  he  these  wise  men's  likeness  took. 
He  went  to  hear  old  Lyman  Beecher, 

And  so  admired  his  make  and  plan 
That  he  resolved  to  be  a  preacher, 

And  soon  did  look  some  like  that  man. 
His  straight  black  hair,  that  Ute  Chiefs  braid, 

Grew  soon  to  wave  in  graceful  curves, 
And  every  one  who  heard  him  said : 

"  We  hope  he'll  win  what  he  deserves !" 
He  won  good  will  in  every  way, 

And  sympathy  in  all  he  said; 
While  deeds  of  duty  every  day 

His  path  to  higher  purpose  led. 
His  search  for  Shawsheen  seemed  in  vain, 

Though  not  in  vain  that  search  had  been  ; 
He  now  could  seek  his  tribe  again, 

And  teach  them  more  to  live  like  men. 
He'd  tell  them  how  whole  tribes  have  died 

For  want  of  wisdom  to  be  wise 


*  Jonathan  Edwards  taught  the  Indians  in  Stockbridge, 
Mass.,  while  he  was  writing  his  great  work  on  The  Will.  He 
afterwards  died  in  New  Jersey  when  President  of  Princeton 
-College. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  165 

And  for  their  practices  and  pride, 

Which  does  all  better  paths  despise. 
With  this  fond  aim  now  well  defined, 

He  further  studied  with  wise  men, 
To  store  and  strengthen  more  his  mind ; 

Then  went  where  various  tribes  had  been, 
And  asked  both  State  and  Church  to  aid 

Him  in  his  glad  and  glorious  aim  ; 
And  everywhere  warm  friends  he  made,. 

Who  fondly  added  to  his  fame. 

He  saw  how  some  New  England  tribes 

Are  only  known  by  ancient  name 
And  their  extinction  he  describes, 

And,  blushing,  tells  who  were  to  blame, 
Nonantum  (Newton),  and  Natick, 

Where  princely  Elliot  used  to  preach, 
He  searched,  till  every  sense  was  sick, 

To  find  one  who  the  tongue  could  teach 
In  which  the  Bible  was  first  set 

In  type  in  our  vast  hemisphere  ; 
That  Indian  Bible  he  found  yet, 

But  none  could  read  it,  far  or  near  [ 
'A  sad  memento  this  doth  seem !" 

Said  Konkaput's  soliloquy ; 
[The  Indian  race,  here,  like  a  dream, 

Hath  vanished,  even  from  memory  I 
Yet  that  book  was  then  a  blessing, 

Winning  many  heathen  heavenward, 
Healing  doubts  the  most  distressing, 

Putting  kindness  on  high  record  ; 
When  I  saw  it,  how  I  kissed  it 

For  its  reading  once  by  red  men, 
Even  by  some  who  did  resist  it, 

And  declined  among  the  dead  men. 
King  Philip  cursed  this  Book  of  Christ,. 

And  fought  His  philanthropic  faith,. 


166   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTF,S. 

And  smote  th'  Almighty  with  his  fist : 

So  died  a  most  symbolic  death  ! 
I  must  return  to  my  own  tribe, 

And  teach  them  better  ways  of  life  ; 
These  Scriptural  duties  I'll  describe, 

And  lure  them  up  from  lust  and  strife. 
I'll  win  their  life,  if  not  my  wife  !" 

So  saying,  he  soon  set  his  face 
Toward  the  Rocky  Mountains  far, 

To  animate  his  own  Ute  race 
To  better  works  than  beastly  war — 
To  mend  mankind,  and  not  to  mar  ! 


SCENES  X 

TROM   THE   ATLANTIC   COAST   TO   THE  UTE  CAMP. 

The  passage  from  "  the  rock  bound  coast " 

Up  toward  the  Rocky  Mountain  heights 
Taxed  our  young  hero's  temper  most, 

By  its  long  distance,  days  and  nights ; 
But  all  the  way  he  studied  well 

"The  Indian  Question,"  first  and  last ; 
He  stood  where  famous  chieftains  fell, 

And  learned  the  future  from  the  past. 
He  went,  too,  'mong  the  Cherokees, 

The  Choctaws  and  the  Chickasaws, 
And  in  their  states  finds  much  to  please, 

Their  bibles,  learning  and  best  laws  ; 
And  then,  his  soul  surcharged  with  truth, 

And  fired  with  Christian  faith  and  zeal, 
He  hastes,  with  ardor  of  his  youth, 

T'  uplift  his  tribe  with  love's  appeal. 
At  length  he  finds  on  the  frontier 

His  once  good  friend,  the  Ute  Guero, 
From  whom  his  own  death  he  doth  hear, 

In  language  brief  we  cite  below : 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN  LAKES.  167 

*'Arrow,"  he  said,  "and  Pangentwa, 

.  Had  fought  the  fierce  hordes  of  the  plain, 
To  capture  back  their  King's  young  squaw  ; 

When  Doctor  Pangentwa  was  slain.  * 

But  Arrow  proved  a  prince  indeed  ! 

He  worsted  the  Arapahoes, 
Then  marched  his  force  with  might  and  speed 

Against  the  Cheyennes  and  the  Crows. 
Meanwhile,  white  soldiers  came  and  fought 

The  fierce  Apaches  and  the  Sioux, 
And  took  Shawsheen,  the  squaw  they  sought, 

And  sent  her  home  with  the  good  news  !" 
He  said :  ' '  She  was  to  be  our  Queen  ; 

But  Konkaput,  our  young  King-Chief, 
Went  in  her  search,  nor  was  since  seen  ; 

His  death  is  now  a  fixed  belief : 
But  still  the  Utes  have  made  advance  ; 

Peace  is  approved  with  Apaches  ; 
Their  gallant  chief,  by  them  called  'Chance,' 

Has  sent,  by  two  brave  attaches,, 
The  crown  Shawsheen  gave  our  young  King, 

With  word  'twas  a  wise  wizard's  will 
They  should  this  thing  to  Arrow  bring ; 

So  he  received  and  has  it  still. 
He's  hence  our  chief,  both  young  and  brave, 

A  mighty  man  in  war  and  peace, 
With  his  great  rival  in  the  grave, 

Whose  own  betrothed  doth  acquiesce." 

{Konkaput.} 
And  was  Shawsheen,  of  whom  3~ou  speak, 

Restored  the  Utes  with  all  her  rights  ; 
With  no  attempt  her  troth  to  break, 

By  savage  Sioux  or  soldier  Whites  ? 

(Guero.) 
To  this  Guero,  with  guile,  replies  : 

Yes;  she  was  rescued  from  the  stake, 


168        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE)  KING   OF 

Where  she  was  bound  in  sacrifice, 

Ere  her  betrothal  she  would  break  ! 
And  when  she  was  to  us  restored, 
*       She  pined,  and  well  nigh  perished  quiter 
The  distant  spouse  she  so  deplored, 

And  sighed  his  name  by  day  and  night ; 
So  that  a  doctor  to  her  came 

And  healed  this  trouble  in  her  headr 
By  incantations  of  that  name, 

As  if  of  one  already  dead. 
By  this  she  really  found  relief, 

And  with  the  doctor  one  day  went  • 
When  he  was  chosen  a  Ute  Chief, 

With  her  the  keeper  of  his  tent. 
She  thus  became  the  wife  and  squaw 

Of  this  Ute  doctor  with  ado, 
Who  lives  by  medicine  and  law, 

And  practices,  at  will,  the  two  ; 
"A  man  of  medicine"  and  might ; 

All  fear  the  "meda"*  to  offend, 
And  few  are  safe  before  his  sight 

Who  do  not  all  he  does  befriend  ; 
For  he  traditions'  trails  can  see, 

And  tells  the  tribes  what  ones  are  true, 
And  with  a  fiery  frenzy  free 

Declares  for  all  what  each  should  do. 

(Konkaput.) 
Does  Arrow  claim  that  crown  as  his, 

The  sign  that  he  is  the  Ute  Chief? 
And  do  the  Utes  delight  in  this, 

Nor  o'er  the  absent  King  show  grief? 

(Guero.) 
Their  grief  is  great !    Their  Chief  is. dead  I 

The  wisest  youth  the  world  has  known  ! 


*  Meda,  medicine  man. 


A  LEGEND  OF   TWIN   LAKES.  169 

But,  as  I  have  already  said, 

Young  Arrow  now  is  on  the  throne  ! 

(Konkaput.} 
And  should  their  King  come  back  again, 

Would  Arrow  yield  to  him  the  crown  ? 
Or  cause  his  rival  to  be  slain — 

By  some  assassin,  smitten  down  ? 

(Guero.) 
Why,  all  confess  he  will  not  come  ! 

He  went  away  as  one  insane     , 
From  the  Twin  Lakes,  his  native  home  ;    " 

He's  dead  !     He  can  not  come  again  ! 
Besides,  Arrow's  proclaimed  him  dead  ; 

And  all  have  mourned  him,  man  by  man. 
Arrow  is  honored  in  his  stead, 

And  rules  as  well  as  any  can. 

(Konkaput. ) 
But  let's  suppose  that  King's  alive  ; 

That  searching  for  his  Queen,  in  vain, 
He  should  some  day,  yet  safe,  arrive — 

Would  he  be  slain  ?   or  King  again  ? 
Pray  tell,  would  not  your  noble  tribe 

Unite  to  shout  :     "  The  lost  is  found  ! 
The  dead's  alive  !  "  and  loud  ascribe 

His  greater  right  to  ancient  ground? 

( Guero. ) 
We  can't  "suppose"  that  he  still  lives  ! 

Shawsheen  herself  now  deems  him  deadi  I 
Our  love  for  him  no  license  gives 

For  treason  to  our  tribal  head. 
Arrow's  a  hero,  standing  high, 

In  all  our  hopes,  in  every  heart ; 
We  all  would  for  and  with  him  die 

Before  we'd  dare  from  him  depart ! 
Besides,  Great  Father  President 

Has  called  Arrow  of  Utes  the  King, 


170   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  since  to  Washington  he  went 

He  has  new  thoughts — knows  everything. 
As  warrior,  he  has  warrior's  wild  ; 

As  hunter,  he  knows  every  haunt ; 
As  Chieftain,  he  owns  every  child  ; 

On  him  we  wait  for  all  we  want ! 

(Konkapnt.} 
Pray,  have  the  UUs  no  ancient  pride, 

Which,  verily,  they  would  evince 
Upon  the  heir-apparent's  side, 

If  he  should  prove  himself  their  prince  ; 
Who  had  departed — but  not  died — 

And  been  hard  searching  ever  since 
To  find  the  Princess,  promised  bride, 

By  the  best  helps,  at  best  but  hints  ? 

( Guero. ) 
Ah,  much  for  Konkaput  we  mourn  ! 

Our  people  all  admired  his  power  ; 
The  one  bright  son  of  Piesse  born, 

The  rarest  Rocky  Mountain  flower, 
That,  like  some  plume  in  loftiest  place, 

Seemed  waved  sublimely  in  the  wind  ; 
Or  some  tall  pine  tree's  princely  grace, 

So  elevated  was  his  mind ! 
No  one  can  know  what  he  could  do, 

If  he's  not  dead,  but  should  declare 
As  tribal  Prince,  and  prove  it  true  ; 

In  royal  person  reappear, 
So  proud,  imposing,  self-possessed, 

That  he  should  be  as  he  hath  been  ; 
For  Utes,  to  feel  that  to  be  blessed 

They  should  have  him,  more  than  Shawsheen. 
I've  loved  him  like  my  very  life  ; 

Been  with  him,  both  at  home,  abroad  ; 
Have  seen  him  silence  hate  and  strife 

By  giving  law,  as  if  from  God. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  171 

I  pause  here,  wondering  at  his  power  ! 

If,  coming  from  captivity, 
He  should  appear  the  present  hour, 

I  cannot  say  what  change  would  be. 

(Konkapvt.} 
How  would  you  feel  if  he  were  found 

Now,  fond  of  knowledge  nobler  far 
Than  that  of  Chiefs  yet  most  renowned, 

Able  to  win  more  than  by  war  ; 
Would  you  espouse  his  cause,  and  aid 

To  wake  the  people's  wiser  pride, 
Nor  from  him  shrink,  nor  be  afraid, 

But,  if  you  died,  fall  at  his  side  ? 

(Guero.} 
I  surely  would !    He  was  so  good, 

Well  grown,  and  war-like  in  the  way 
That  stands  the  test  when  understood  ; 

His  wisdom  would  half  win  the  day  ! 
He's  fair  and  square;  in  fact,  no  " squaw" — 

As  Utes  declare  all  cowards  are  ; 
His  life  seemed  like  some  higher  law 

Put  in  the  world  for  peace  and  war. 
I  said,  he  left  like  one  insane  ; 

But  he  prepared,  much  to  his  praise, 
A  plan  to  get  Shawsheen  again 

By  peaceful,  wise  and  prudent  ways  ; 
These  failing,  then  he  bade  us  fight, 

To  save  each  captive  held  a  slave  ; 
•  Said  :  Senoblaze  would  bless  the  right, 

And  bring  deliverance  to  the  brave, 

Even  though  some  perish  in  the  grave ! 


172       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,   THE   KING   OF   UTES. 
SCENES   XI.VI. 

HERE   KONKAPUT   REVEALS    HIMSELF. 

So  full  assurances  of  faith, 

Such  frank  affection  of  his  friend, 
Who  would  devote  himself  to  death 

To  aid  his  efforts  to  the  end, 
Was  so  inspiring  to  his  soul 

The  King  could  not  himself  conceal : 
His  friendly  nature  kept  control 

In  this  proud,  fond  and  firm  appeal : 
"  Guero,  dear  Guero,  most  sincere, 

I  take  your  word,  and  henceforth,  know 
I'm  Konkaput !    Your  King  is  here, 

And  bids  you  by  my  side  to  go  ! 
There  was,  in  ages  long  gone  by, 

A  noble  man,  of  mighty  name, 
Who  met  his  brother,  mountains  nigh, 

And  to  their  tribes  in  trouble  came ;, 
Then  led  them  forth  with  mighty  hand 

Through  e'en  worse  surges  than  the  sea,. 
Into  a  precious  promised  laud 

Of  life,  and  love,  and  liberty. 
Their  tribes  there  stood,  tried  by  the  storm 

Of  heathen  wrath,  and  reared  a  race 
Of  men  appointed  to  perform 

The  greatest  miracles  of  grace. 
So  we've  met  here,  with  mountains  near, 

That  we  may  go  to  greet  again, 
With  earnest  faith,  without  a  fear, 

Our  kindred  tribes  of  the  red  men, 
And  break  their  chains  of  darkest  night,. 

And  lead  them  forth  to  promised  lands,. 
That  live  and  blossom  in  the  light 

Of  Christian  counsels  and  commands.. 
I  loved  Shawsheen,  as  you  well  know  : 

My  love's  led  me  from  sea  to  sea, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  173 

Through  many  wants  and  thrilling  woe, 

Fain  to  behold  where  she  might  be. 
Though  my  fair  Love  at  last  is  found, 

Rescued,  restored  to  her  own  race, 
And  has  been  welcomed,  safe  and  sound, 

You  can  not  see  how  sad  my  case  ! 
My  own  is  not  my  own,  I  hear, 

For  Konkaput  has  lost  his  crown  ; 
And  my  fair  maiden,  too,  I  fear, 

Can  never  more  become  my  own. 
Well,  in  my  wanderings  far  away, 

I've  seen  what  sentiments  succeed ; 
What  better  way  all  who  obey 

Will  nobler  gain  what  good  they  need  ! 
This  Christian  knowledge  is  my  crown  ! 

If  the  Utes  honor  this,  and  own 
That  righteousness  which  is  renown, 

I'll  through  this  means  maintain  my  throne ; 
Though  still  by  Arrow  they  shall  stand, 

His  sister's  wreath  he  still  retain  ; 
A  worthier  crown  will  I  command, 

If  right  may  yet  reveal  my  reign  ! 
I  crave  a  Christian  culture,  too, 

In  her  whom  I  may  have  for  life  ; 
Though  I  have  been  to  Shawsheen  true, 

Now,  she  will  never  be  my  wife  ; 
And  it  is  well !    We  must  submit ; 

Perhaps  we  ought  not  ever  meet — 
To  learn  what  is  most  loyal,  fit, 

I  hence  would  seek  for  Wisdom's  seat ; 
There  find  what's  right,  then  follow  it ! 
So,  forth,  dear  friend,  from  this  frontier 

Take  me  where  Arrow  has  his  tent ! 
We  will  his  worth  and  wisdom  cheer  ; 

To  his  supremacy  assent ; 
But,  with  ideas  omnipotent, 

Will  urge  the  Utes  to  educate, 


174   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

And  arts  of  industry  invent !  " 
At  this,  they  twain,  together  went, 

To  greet  the  Utes,  who  proved  ingrate  ; 
But  'ere  they  start  the  young  King  sent 
To  Mercer  note  of  his  intent, 

And  forecasts  of  his  coming  fate  ! 


SCENES 

KONKAPUT'S   MESSAGE   AND   APPEAL   TO    MERCER. 

Ere  Konkaput  had  crossed  the  line 

'Twixt  savages  and  civil  life, 
He  sent  this  note  in  terms  benign 

To  "Worthy  Mercer"  and  his  wife, 
Saying  :     "I  have  such  hope  to  see 

The  savage  turned  into  a  saint, 
A  true  friend,  noble,  trusty,  free, 

With  visage  purged  from  vile  war" paint, 
That  I  am  ready  even  to  die 

To  hasten  down  the  heaven  born  days 
When  my  wild  race  will  rise  on  high 

And  help  the  world  in  heavenward  ways. 
I  can't  unfold  the  care  I  feel, 

The  courage  found  in  Christian  faith  ; 
Yet  I  must  make  you  this  appeal : 

Do  help  me  save  my  Utes  from  death  ! 
I  feel  the  spell  o'er  mount  and  dell ; 
From  your  Ute  friend,  farewell,  Farewell  \" 

Then,  Guero  acting  as  his  guide, 

And  burdens  bearing  at  his  side, 

They  onward  wend  their  upward  way 
Full  many  a  league,  full  many  a  day  ; 

Till  glad  they  reach  the  Eyrie  Glen, 

Secluded  from  sight  of  men. 


GATEWAY  TO  GARDEN  OF  THK  GODS. 


176   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF 


They  see  an  eagle  by  her  nest 

Ere  long  to  take  upon  her  wings 

Her  young  to  bear  them  off  at  rest. 

This  to  the  Prince  such  promise  brings 

Of  his  kind  Heavenly  parent's  care, 
Who  had  disturbed  his  nest  before, 

And  now  in  love  would  safely  bear 
His  inexperience,  teach  to  soar, 

Like  eagles  toward  azure  skies, 

That  he  like  them  again  w7ould  rise 

And  through  the  Garden  Gate-way  go 
To  greatest  heights  and  look  below. 

So,  wishing  once  more  to  survey 

The  realm  of  nature's  grand  array, 

They  passed  thence  up  onto  Pike's  peaks 
And  then  inspired,  the  Ute  King  speaks, 

So  overwhelmed  with  what  he  saw 

And  filled  with  poetry  and  awe, 

He  seemed  himself  a  sublime  thought, 
A  human  tongue  of  heaven  taught, 

That  the  whole  scene  be  so  expressed 

In  blessing  others  he  be  blessed. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  177 

SCENES    XL VIII. 

-     KING   KONKAPUT'S   APOSTROPHE   UPON   PIKE'S   PEAK. 

A  grand  and  growing  vision  this !    It  spreads 

Before  my  eyes,  turned  either  way  I  will ! 
Here  hoary  mountains  have  uncapped  their  heads, 

And  fairest  sunbeams  bend  around  to  fill 

The  landscape  with  a  lofty,  loving  thrill — 
A  sense  of  wonder  at  the  scene  sublime, 

Of  mountains  above  mountains,  even  until 
I  seem  enlarged,  as  if  to  live  in  time 
And  space  primordial,  from  creation's  prime  : 
And  thence  I  see  the  mountains,  beasts  and  men  ; 

The  world  with  all  its  wonders  ;  yonder  sun, 
And  yon  pale  moon,  and  all  that  is  or  e'er  hath 
been, 

Or  shall  be,  worked  up  by  the  Will  of  One 

Great  Spirit,  grandly  speaking,  and  'twas  done  t 
These  proud  and  azure  peaks  that  pierce  the  air, 

The  winding  rivers  that  between  them  run,, 
The  frosts,  the  forests,  and  the  foot  hills  fair. 
The  heights  and  depths  that  Heavenly  One  and 

Will  declare. 
Great  God  of  nature,  source  of  good  supreme, 

Who  madest  the  world, and  walkest  on  the  wind, 
And  shine st  with  the  sun's  resplendent  beam — 

Though  far  less  bright  than  thine  own  brilliant 
mind, 

In  whose  fond  forming  hand  we  feel  and  find 
The  world,  upholden  from  the  Heavens  above, 

And  kept  by  impulse,  beaming,  pure  and  kind,. 
And  living,  thrilling,  throbbing  with  thy  love — 
This  wide-spread  picture  doth  thy  power  and  wis- 
dom prove. 
I  seem  as  nothing,  Source  of  Nature,  now ; 

Foot-hills,  and  plains  and  peaks  in  beauty  vie, 

23 


178   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

While  from  above  the  bending  heavens  bow 
To  blend  as  one  thy  blessed  majesty, 
And  halo  all  the  human  eye  can  see, 

With  the  best  glory  of  the  sun's  glad  beam, 
Into  one  most  amazing  mystery — 

Where  sights  so  grand  are  grander  than  they  seem, 

And  strains  of  silent  music  most  melodious  stream. 

Yet  what  I  see,  yon  eagle  looks  upon 

More  grandly,  o'er  the  tallest  mountain  height ; 

He  soars  above  the  distant,  dazzling  sun, 
As  if  to  live  upon  its  affluent  light, 
And  of  the  sun's  own  eye  to  catch  the  sight ; 

Then  on,  and  on,  he  soars  and  sails  away, 
Defying  height  in  all  his  daring  flight, 

Till,  like  a  speck  he  seems  of  the  sun's  ray, 

And  dies  of  distance  in  the  depths  of  unditn'd  day  ! 

O  that  I  might  thus  soar  above  the  earth  ; 

In  my  uplifting  seem  myself  the  less, 
And  lead  the  world  to  long  for  loftier  worth; 

On  sires  and  sons  this  princely  scene  impress, 

So  blend  with  sunbeams  this  sad  earth  to  bless  ; 
Soaring  away  from  every  wanton  sight, 

And,  drenched  in  sunlight  as  my  living  dress, 
Or,  losing  self  in  the  surpassing  light, 

Illume  earth's  darkness  and  allay  distress  ; 
So,  sinking  self  from  sight  in  light  and  height, 
As  thus  to  make  earth's  chill  and  breadth  more 

cheer  and  bright. 
Behold  I  stand  now  'bove  my  native  hills  ! 

I  view  once  more  their  varied  landscapes  o'er  ; 
My  throbbing  brain — enthralled  in  beauty — thrills 

While  memory  weeps  o'er  men  I'll  meet  no 
more  ! 

Here  Ca-Ni-Ah-Che  stood  in  days  of  yore  ; 
Here  Clark,  Kit  Carson  and  kind  Fremont  came  ; 

Here  famous  leaders  stood,  full  long  before, 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  179 

With  him  who  conjured  first  my  kingly  name ; 

Aye,  in  this  place  stood  he  whom  I  deplore, 
Whose  warrior  name  was  not  unknown  to  fame  : 
His  race  I  haste  to  bless,  rather  than  curse  or 

blame  ! 
I  would  now  lead  from  nature  up  to  God 

My  wicked  race  of  wayward,  war-like  men, 
Along  the  paths  the  Prince  of  Peace  hath  trod, 

And  consecrate  to  Him  each  mount  and  glen. 

My  steps,  O  Lord,  I  bend  where  thou  hast  been, 
And  give  my  life,  with  every  gain  and  loss ; 

And  if  I  fail,  would  fall  in  some  such  scene 
As  this,  or  that  where  thou  hast  laid  thy  Cross 

So  high  and  clear,  so  holy  and  so  clean, 
As  driven  snow,  with  not  a  speck  of  dross  : 
So,  into  Heaven  from  Pizgah's  heights  I'd  pass 
across ! 


SCENES 

TO  FREMONT  PASS  AND  THE   HOLY  CROSS. 

Guero,  as  Konkaput's  kind  guide, 

And  owning  him  of  Utes  the  head, 
Makes  haste  to  seek  that  mountain's  side 

Where  Arrow  hath  his  cohorts  led, 
Till  the  broad  landscapes  held  Mount  Bross, 

Mount  Lincoln  and  Rosalia's  rim ; 
Thence  toward  the  heights  of  "Holy  Cross," 

That  in  the  distance  rises  dim. 

They  traveled  where  Fremont  had  trod, 

Through  plains   and  parks,   'mid  throne-like 
peaks, 

And  gained  at  length  the  "Mount  of  God," 
Where  Calvary  to  this  continent  speaks  ! 

They  two  are  there  for  the  first  time, 
And  wait  on  bluffs,  above  all  wood, 


180   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Beholding  scenery,  so  sublime, 

That  high  the  cross  in  halo  stood. 

Here  paused  the  prince,  in  awe  profound, 
His  sense  inhaled  the  heavenly  scene  ; 

While  sunset  radiance  sits  around, 

And  sheds  its  rich  resplendent  sheen. 


Then,  as  this  paled  and  passed  from  sight, 
The  round  whole  moon  made  haste  to  rise, 

With  beaming  locks  of  borrowed  light, 
That  scarcely  hid  the  hovering  skies. 

The  mountain  stood  a  massy  stem, 
As  if  to  hold  the  earth  above, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  18J 

Or  bear  th'  Almighty's  diadem, 

That  dazzles  with  divinest  love  ! 
Here  Giiero  gave  himself  to  sleep — 

But  the  Ute  King,  all  eye,  all  ear, 
Heard  heavenly  daimons,*  holy,  deep, 

Say :  "Lo,  'tis  good,  Lord,  to  be  here  !  " 
He  saw  how  saints,  from  Heaven  sent, 

The  crucifixion  still  record, 
And  talked  of  pitching  there  his  tent, 

To  look  with  them  upon  their  Lord. 
High  o'er  him,  too,  he  saw  the  "  Swan" 

Around  its  ancient  "Cross"  entwined, 
Which  other  lands  now  looked  upon 

And  in  their  hearts  its  hopes  enshriued. 
He  thought,  also,  how  continents 

All  raise  some  cross  of  Rome  or  Greece, 
That  pious  men  and  penitents 

May  pass  into  the  ports  of  peace. 
So  this  mark  set  in  mountain  side 

Was,  as  "  The  Southern  Cross"  at  sea, 
A  gift  of  God  to  serve  as  guide 

And  call  him  hence  to  Calvary. 
It  was  a  symbol  so  well  set 

In  solemn  silence  on  the  side 
The  mountain  summit,  that  it  met 

His  want  and  seemed  the  world  to  chide, 
And  set  forth,  too,  the  solemn  fate 

Of  such  reformers  as  foresee 
Self-sacrifice  essential  yet 

To  make  foes  friends,  and  set  men  free. 
So,  prostrate  here  in  suffering  prayer, 

He  groaned,  as  in  Gethsemaue  : 
"kGod  spare  the  Utes  given  to  despair  ; 

Let  my  life  be  their  liberty  !  " 

*  The  Greek  daimon  (demon)  meant  disembodied  spirits 
good   or  bad. 


182   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

He  groaned  again  in  agony 

Till  helped  by  angels  out  of  Heaven, 
And  all  the  martyrs'  ministry 

Seemed  in  his  grief  as  succor  given. 
He  felt  the  oft-told,  fearful  tale, 

That  darkened  lives  despise  the  light ; 
That  ignorants  will  even  assail 

Their  own  redeemers  unto  right ! 
And  hence  forebodings,  full  of  fears, 

Confirmed  his  faith  that  he  could  fall 
A  victim  young  to  vice  of  years, 

To  help  atone — like  martyrs  all ! 
And  sighing  for  all  sympathy 

That  martyrs  need,  when  near  the  stake,, 
He  touched  Guero  most  tenderly, 

The  weary  man  at  once  to  wake. 
Just  then  the  peak,  with  power  of  art 

Divine,  revealed  the  rising  day, 
And  bade  them  early  both  depart  ; 

To  the  wild  camp  pursue  their  way  ! 
A  light  repast,  like  "  feasts  of  love,"  * 

Of  melted  snow  and  bread  and  meat, 
Prepared  them  for  their  early  move, 

And  soon  they  saw  King  Arrow's  seat. 
But  their  dim  path  was  difficult 

To  feet  unused  to  find  that  trail, 
And  doubtful  the  desired  result ; 

For  several  ways  were  sure  to  fail. 
At  length  Guero  liked  best  to  go 

Before  his  master  to  begin 
The  parley  and  their  purpose  show, 

Arrow's  good  will  to  guide  and  win. 
His  Prince,  well  pleased,  this  plan  approved, 

And  waited,  sheltered  from  the  wind 
And  glare  by  rocks,  while  gladly  moved 

His  cautious  guide  with  purpose  kind. 


*  The  Methodists  use  bread  and  water  for  their  love  feasts. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  183 

Here  Konkaput  composed  a  hymn 
That  might  be  sung  in  many  scenes, 

Suggested  by  some  seraphim 

Who  know  what  man's  salvation  means. 

THE   HOLY   CROSS. — BY   KONKAPUT. 

The  loftiest  thing  in  human  thought 

Is  God's  redeeming  love, 
Which  He  from  heaven  in  pity  brought,. 

Descending  frc  m  above. 
Unto  the  cress,  uplifted  high, 

In  ages  long  ago, 


THE  CREST  OF  MOUNT  HOLY  CROSS. 

He  came  from  heaven  to  do  and  die, 

And  lift  us  from  our  woe. 
He  came  incarnate,  God  in  Christ, 

To  join  our  crowrn  and  cross  : 
Redeeming  love,  who  can  resist ! 

To  lose  that  love,  what  loss ! 
As  God  in  man,  great,  meek,  and  good, 

He  died  that  we  might  live  ; 
And,  rising^to  His  brotherhood, 

I/earn  how  our  lives  to  give. 


184   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTHS. 

When  He  ascended  out  of  sight, 

He  set  this  symbol  there, 
So  clean  and  white  in  the  clear  light, 

And  haloed  in  His  air  ; 
Upon  the  topmost  waves  of  time, 

He  set  this  signet  high, 
On  mountain  summits  most  sublime, 

And  in  the  lofty  sky. 

0  most  serene  and  blessed  sight, 
And  simple  as  sublime! 

1  look  on  thee,  and  with  delight 

Repeat  my  reverent  rhyme, 
And  hallow  thee  with  all  my  heart 

To  guide  where'er  I  go  ; 
And  when  from  earth  I  soon  depart, 

Make  me  white  as  thy  snow. 


SCENES    Iv. 

THE   STOLID  TREACHERY,    AND   A   TREMENDOUS   STORM. 

As  Guero  came  to  the  Ute  camp, 

His  courage  failed,  and  cringing  fear 
Converted  to  the  veriest  scamp 

The  Ute  still  deemed  both  staunch  and  dear. 
His  meanness  sold  his  master  soon 

To  Arrow's  bold,  ambitious  will, 
For  he  agreed,  that  very  noon, 

With  comrades  chos'n  their  Chief  to  kill !  * 
These,  seeking  back  the  sheltering  rock, 

Soon  reached  their  King  in  his  retreat — 


*  Indians  have  opposed  fancied  usurpation  more  than  efforts 
to  teach  religion.  King  Ouray  was  once  visited  by  a  young 
chief,  named  O-Se-Paw,  who  threatened  to  lead  the  tribe  :  and 
as  he  rode  away  the  King  ordered  him  shot,  and  the  Indians 
approved.  Still,  they  are  superstitious  now  as  in  the  days  of 
Columbus,  and  fear  the  Great  Spirit.  Hence  they  have  seldom 
killed  religious  teachers.  Their  opposition  to  Konkaput  was 
political  more  than  religious.  What  the  White  River  Agency 
wanted,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  was  more  of  religious  truth  from 
God,  and  less  trust  in  their  indolent  and  treacherous  nature. 


A   LKGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES. 

(The  lime  with  whites  was  two  o'clock), 
So  they  sought  rest  upon  his  seat. 

The  air  was  warm  and  winged  away, 
By  simple  buoyancy's  ascent ; 

Till  condensed  moisture  cooled  the  day, 
And  'round  the  mountain's  summit  bent. 


185 


Soon  hurrying  clouds  the  heights  command  ; 

Fierce  lightnings  leap  forth  through  the  air  ; 
And  hiss  and  howl  on  every  hand, 

And  lay  strange  hold  on  even  their  hair. 


2.1 


186   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

The  scene — blent  awful  and  sublime — 

Seemed  solemn  as  a  judgment  day — 
When  Jesus  on  the  tops  of  time 

Is  come  in  clouds  to  claim  His  sway  I 
King  Konkaput,  with  calm  delight,. 

Declares  to  Guero,  God  in  Christ, 
Who,  to  foil  wrong,  defend  the  right,. 

Doth  Nature's  forces  now  enlist. 
He  says  :  "This,  subtle,  sacred  thing, 

That  glares  thus  in  that  awful  gleamr 
Shall  yet  to  earth  bright  solace  bring, 

L,ike  the  Irnmanuel's  living  beam. 
Soon  wires  will  wind  around  this  world, 

And  make  all  lands  like  living  men, 
And  thoughts  with  lightning  speed  be  hurled 

Against  bad  errors  that  have  been  ; 
Till  threads  of  steel  with  Christ  shall  thrill 

And  summon  all  men  to  his  seat, 
Arraign  the  world  just  as  he  will, 

And  make  mankind  in  converse  meet. 

So,  as  reverberating  sound 

Brings  echo  after  echo  near, 
And  grave  alarms  shake  all  the  ground, 

And  our  own  heart-beats  we  can  hear — 
So,  on  those  threads  of  solemn  thought 

Shall  sounds  from  every  social  scene 
Be  from  all  lands  together  brought, 

And  all  men  know  what  ail  men  mean. 
That  lightning's  flash  shall  yet  illume, 

Without  the  thunder's  wail,  all  things, 
Till  not  a  prince  shall  dare  presume 

To  contemn  Christ,  as  King  of  Kings. 
So  clear  on  clouds  of  Heaven  I  see 

This  Christ  of  God  in  goodness  come, 
That  if  so  be  He  summon  me, 

He'll  take  me  into  Heaven,  His  home  I" 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  187 

Thus  counseled  them  their  kind  Ute  King  ! 

Amid  that  mighty  mountain  storm, 
While  lightnings  flash  and  thunders  ring— 

And  prostrate  falls  the  prayerless  form 
Of  Guero  !   lifeless  on  the  ground  ! 

His  comrades,  cringe  before  his  crime, 
And  pray  their  Prince,  with  awe  profound, 

To  ask  for  them  still  further  time  ! 


SCENES    LI. 

:HE  CAME  TO  HIS   OWN   AND  HIS  OWN   RECEIVED  HIM  NOT." 

They  tried  in  vain  to  raise  the  dead  : 

Guero  was  waiting  for  his  grave  ! 
All  Indian  men  have  had  much  dread 

Of  death  by  lightning,  of  a  brave  ; 
And  these  survivors,  therefore,  seek 

The  camp,  by  snow-clouds  hid  from  sight,. 
With  spirit  broke  too  much  to  speak  ; 

They're  even  frenzied  in  their  fright. 
So  Konkaput  alone  can  give 

A  good  account  of  Guero's  end  ; 
Hence  Arrow  suffers  him  to  live, 

For  this  last  kindness  to  his  friend  ; 
But  greets  him  as  a  "stranger  guest," 

Incredulous  of  kin  and  creed, 
Refusing  even  to  be  blessed 

With  knowledge  waiting  on  his  need. 
He  called  a  council  in  the  case, 

And  put  a  vague,  perverse  appeal 
To  the  rude  passions  of  his  race, 

"The  fair  usurper's  fate"  to  seal. 
He  spoke  with  special  emphasis, 

That  thrilled  the  thoughtless  savage  throngs 
Of  what  the  Ute  holds  yet  as  his, 

His  fancied  rights  and  enforced  wrongs, 
And  cooilv  claimed  the  continent — 


188   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTF,S. 

In  sure  fee  simple  to  the  soil ; 
The  world  was  his  where'er  he  went, 

With  none  to  spare  what  he  would  spoil ! 

KING   KONKAPUT  REPLIES  TO  ARROW'S   CANT. 

Then  their  true  King  in  tones  thus  kind, 

Says  :    "Friends  of  Konkaput,  give  ear! 
A  moment  lend  me  all  your  mind, 

And  what  I  say  with  candor,  hear  ! 
King  Arrow's  words  I  will  admit, 

Concerning  both  our  wrongs  and  rights — 
So  far  as  facts  are  found  to  fit. 

But  I  have  seen  far  better  sights, 
And  have  in  tne  much  higher  mind 

Thau  to  roam  wild  o'er  rock  and  wood, 
And  hunt  and  kill  just  what  we  find, 

And  get  or  hope  no  higher  good. 
The  parks  and  woods  through  which  we  pass, 

And  poorly  hold  that  put  in  hand, 
Where  elks  grow  fat  on  herbs  and  grass, 

With  simplest  care  would  soon  command 
The  best  of  fruits  for  Utes  and  beasts ; 

Like  corn  and  wheat,  and  apples,  too, 
And  we  could  feed  on  constant  feasts, 

And  fare  as  well  as  white  folks  do. 
Instead  of  wigwams,  we'd  in  time 

Have  large  and  happy  lands  and  homes, 
And  laws  protecting  life  from  crime 

Of  every  vagabond  that  roams  ; 
Yes,  we'd  have  homes  instead  of  haunts, 

And  well  stocked  farms  instead  of  foes  ; 
We'd  put  on  hats  and  coats  and  pants, 

And  vests  and  shirts,  and  socks  and  shoes. 
To  temples  we  would  turn  those  pines  ; 

With  precious  arts  that  wise  men  use 
This  mountain  would  be  changed  to  mines, 

If  you'd  be  wise  and  civilize  ; 


KING   KONKAPUT'S  LAST  APPEAR. 


190   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTKS. 

But  if  you  will  live  like  wild  bears, 

And,  wandering  waste  unbounded  wealth, 
The  Whites  shall  seize  the  whole  in  shares, 

Nor  can  you  stamp  their  acts  as  stealth. 
I  know  man's'title  to  the  ground 

Is  first,  indeed,  from  the  Great  Spirit, 
And  is  a  question  so  profound, 

So  high,  so  mighty,  of  such  merit, 
Abuses  of  it  will  abound  ; 

That  after  God — the  owner,  giver — 
Men  soon  become  its  buyers,  sellers  , 

As  if  their  heirs  may  own  forever; 
But  where  are  now  the  old  cliff-dwellers  ? 

And  how  bought  we  their  lands  and  waters  ? 
And  what  our  claim  upon  these  mountains, 

To  deed  them  to  our  sons  and  daughters, 
With  all  their  forests,  fields  and  fountains  ? 

God  first  gave  man  a  fruitful  garden, 
And  placed  therein  to  plow  and  keep  it 

The  first  of  men  for  its  first  warden — 
Now,  to  sow  grain  and  go  and  reap  it, 

When  it  doth  grow  as  God  doth  bless  it, 
Is  like  his  plan  when  he  first  planted 

That  garden  field  given  man  to  dress  it 
And  have  therewith  whate'er  he  wanted. 

So  had  we  proved  our  soil  productive, 
And  met  the  ends  God  had  in  making, 

He'd  see  no  hand,  howe'er  seductive, 
Filch  that  land  by  forceful  taking. 

But  there  was  once  an  ancient  Canaan 
Which  sacrificed  sons  in  the  the  fire, 
And  that  peoples'  life  did  soon  expire  ! 

Though  severed  far  by  time  and  ocean, 
That  teaches  what  all  times  require — 

That  is,  survival  of  the  fittest ; 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  191 

That  races  live  by  living  rightly. 

Those  long  since  dead,  like  those  now  latest, 
All  held  life's  tenure  loosely,  tightly, 

As  they  regard  real  good  the  rightest ; 
That  men  to  hold  ground  must  improve  it, 

In  aid  of  comity  and  kindness  ; 
Both  learn  what's  right,  and  learn  to  love  it, 

Nor  blast  the  soil  by  sin  and  blindness. 
I  know  we're  wronged  by  knaves  and  robbers, 

By  lecherous  men  and  by  mean  liars, 
By  men  unjust  and  base  stock-jobbers — 

And  of  these  facts  are  no  deniers  ; 
Yet  this  is  so,  since  ye  are  so 

Unsuited  to  your  times  and  places, 
And  what  you  need  is  that  you  know 

What  ill  and  good  await  all  races. 
Some  Indians  wronged  have  thereby  risen  ; 

The  persecuted  Cherokees 
Have  now  a  land  almost  elysian, 

With  prospects  that  more  highly  please. 
Still  every  point  King  Arrow  stated 

Would  seem  two-sided,  to  be  sure, 
And  men  with  pride  may  be  elated, 

Yet  still  appear  perversely  poor. 

(TWO  MODELS— CIVIL,   SAVAGE.) 

I  have  two  models  in  my  mind : 

One  is  a  well  taught  Choctaw  town, 
Where  all  the  people  are  so  kind, 

Each  has  a  house  and  farm  his  own. 
There  homesteads,  churches  schools  are  seen, 

And  business  hums  like  hives  of  bees  ; 
There  children  play  upon  the  green, 

And  birds  sit  singing  in  the  trees, 
And  naught  seems  miserable  or  mean. 
There's  in  my  mind  this  other  scene — 

A  Ute  tepee — here,  at  this  time  ! 


192    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

The  contrast  is  like  that  between 

Christianity  and  cruel  crime. 
Oh  !  the  centuries  of  dishonor 

In  such  low  and  savage  lives, 


Doing  in  no  deed  nor  manner 

That  by  which  the  white  man  thrives  ! 
We're  now  living  on  the  bounty 

Of  earth's  most  enlightened  nation, 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES. 

That  has  pleasant  homes  of  plenty 

Beautiful  for  situation, 
Paying  us  for  every  acre 


More  than  red  men  ever  paid, 
And — in  spite  of  liquor,  lucre — 
Is  in  earnest  in  our  aid. 

25 


194        YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF  UTES. 

I  have  two  pictures  which  I  got 

In  some  far  eastern  Indian  schools — 
One  is  a  lazy  looking  lot 

Of  what  folks  might  mistake  for  fools. 
The  other  picture  is  of  pearls — 

Once  the  same  cringing,  sorry  crowd — 
But  now  good  Indian  boys  and  girls, 

Of  whom  you  would  yourselves  be  proud  ! 
They  first  were  diamonds  in  the  rough — 

Fine  ornaments,  not  formed  as  yet — 
Hut  now  they're  nice  and  bright  enough  ; 

The  same  and  yet  a  different  set  : 
In  four  full  moons  this  change  was  wrought — 
A  change  full  worthy  to  be  sought. 
Here  in  my  hand  I  hold  a  Book  ; 

It  has  the  written  words  of  God — 
Who  lately  so  these  mountains  shook 

As  on  these  peaks  his  footsteps  trod  ! 
If  you  could  look  on  nations  now — 

On  the  degraded  and  the  good, 
Their  difference,  as  facts  would  show, 

Is,  how  this  Book  is  understood. 

This  Bible  makes  barbarians  wise  ; 

Is  read  by  wise  men  every  day  ; 
It  aids  all  reading  men  to  rise, 

If  they'll  believe  it  and  obey  ; 
It  lends  clear  light  to  darkest  lands  ; 

It  leads  to  wise  and  worthy  lives, 
And,  by  its  Gospel  and  Commands, 

Makes  happy  households,  husbands,  wives  ; 
It  changes  savages  to  saints, 

And  joins  their  tribes  into  just  states ; 
It  heals  the  world's  wicked  complaints, 

And  now  on  my  Ute  nation  waits ! 
I'm  come,  dear  Utes,  to  educate 

Your  children  in  the  school,  the  Church  ; 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  195 

To  start  you  toward  a  higher  state, 

Assisting  you  the  truth  to  search, 
And  "learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

We  must  have  patience,  persevere, 
In  efforts  to  arise  and  shine. 

I  have  Apache  samples  here 
That  are  inspiring  and  divine, 

Whose  children  once  seemed  low  and  vile, 
But  are,  as  I  did  just  describe, 

So  much  improved  at  school  meanwhile 
They'd  truly  ornament  our  tribe  ! 
So  here  I'm  come,  King  Coloro's  son, 

To  lead  you  up  to  civil  life, 
Resulting,  sure  as  rivers  run, 

In  more  of  strength  and  less  of  strife  ; 
Till  you'll  have  towns,  useful  machines, 

Like  clocks  for  time  to  click  its  haste, 
And  cars  and  mills,  increasing  means 

The  world  to  use,  but  not  to  waste. 
To  all  King  Arrow's  argument, 

I  render  this  condensed  reply  : 
The  whole  vast  Christian  continent 

Is  given  by  God  to  industry  ; 
Enriched  by  mines  and  ripening  grains 

More  useful  than  Utes  ever  saw, 
Till  righteousness  eternal  reigns 

Through  learning,  labor,  love  and  law  ! 
I'm  here  to  help  you  now  to  read, 

That  you  may  hear  the  voice  of  Heaven  ; 
I  love  you  all ;  I  do  indeed  ! 

And  for  your  good  my  life  I've  given  ! 
I  am  your  King,  and  yet  have  come 

To  cherish  and  to  cheer  your  Chief ; 
I'll  help  you  each  to  have  a  home  ; 

I'll  give  you  all  God's  own  relief! 
Believe  me ;  'tis  true  Bible-men 

That  wish  your  good  in  every  way  ; 


196   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES, 

The  bad  and  vile  alone  have  been 
Disposed  to  harm  and  lead  astray  ; 

O,  take  this  Book  of  Blessings,  then  ; 

Let  Heaven's  sweet  love  have  perfect  sway  !  "" 

THEIR   KING   THEY   KILL. 

As  Konkaput  thus  plead  the  cause 

Of  savages  so  saved  by  grace, 
And  laid  down  Heaven's  divinest  laws 

That  reach  and  lift  the  lowest  race  ; 
Just  as  he  spoke  of  work  and  wealth, 

And  of  that  Book's  life-giving  breath, 
One  with  stiletto,  drawn  by  stealth, 

Stepped  up  and  stabbed  his  back  to  death  ! 
And  as  the  strokes  with  life-blood  streamed, 

All  rushed  around  with  savage  yell ; 
Yet  like  some  Christ  the  young  King  seemed  I. 

As  he  defenseless,  dying  fell, 
He  groaned  in  prayer  :   "  Great  God,  forgive 

This  deed  !    They  know  not  what  they  do ! 
I  die  for  them  :    O,  let  them  live, 

And  learn  to  trust  in  what  is  true  !  " 

When  this  was  said,  the  King  was  dead  ! 

If  they  could  know  they've  killed  their  King,. 

And  learn  to  take  the  laws  he  taught, 
His  reign  of  righteousness  would  bring 

The  ceaseless  sceptre  he  had  sought ; 

Then  Christ's  own  crown  to  him,  is  brought  T 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  197 

SCENES    1,11. 

TWO   INDIAN   FUNERALS   AND   THE   RELICS   FOUND. 

Two  Indian  funerals  to  attend  ! 

The  thoughts  of  thunder  and  the  dead, 
Of  Konkaput,  their  King  and  friend, 

Who  seemed  so  sage  in  what  he  said, 
Made  the  tepee  of  tender  mind, 

Caused  a  few  consciences  to  feel 
Compunction  of  the  keenest  kind, 

And  Arrow  could  not  his  conceal. 
He,  therefore,  bade  that  his  best  horse 

Should  die  and  share  with  the  deceased — 
To  help  remove  the  sore  remorse 

That  breathed  of  murder  in  his  breast. 
His  favorite  dog  he  forced  to  die, 

And  lie  down  with  the  lonely  dead, 
To  bear  them  kindly  company 

When  they  should  leave,  like  shades,  their  bed 
And  trudge  on  through  eternity. 
He  took  from  Konkaput  with  care 

Some  papers,  moist  and  stained  with  gore, 
Which  he  presumed  were  either  prayer 

Or  wise  enchantments  that  he  wore  ; 
For  it  would  seem  he  did  so  wear 

These  charms  brought,  cherished,  to  his  breast, 
They  were  so  fondly  folded  there, 

In  very  lining  of  his  vest, 

To  be,  of  all  his  keepsakes,  best. 
King  Arrow  not  a  word  could  read  ; 

So  he  forthwith  wished  some  pale  face 
To  help  his  Indian  heart,  indeed, 

The  true  intent  therefrom  to  trace. 
He  put  them  in  a  parchment  pouch 

To  keep  them  covered,  dry  and  clean, 
Till  some  wise  voice  would  soon  avouch 

What  manuscripts  so  choice  must  mean  ; 

And  soon  we  have  another  scene. 


198       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE   KING   OF   UTESv 
SCENES     lylll. 

FRIEND   MERCER'S1  ENTRY  ON   THE   SCENE. 

"Nathaniel  Mercer," — now  well  known, 

As  "  tutor  of  the  young  Ute  King," — 
Was  not  a  man  to  live  alone, 

When  a  good  wife  is  a  good  thing  ; 
So  he  had  wed  a  bride  whose  blood 

Did  flush  deep  red  upon  her  face, 
When  by  her  spouse  she  speechless  stood 

And  read  the  call  to  save  his  race, 
Which  Konkaput  compactly  wrote 

And  sent  them  from  the  Ute  frontier  ; 
And  now,  inspired  by  that  note, 

Upon  the  scene  they  both  appear, 
In  hope  the  savages  to  save — 

As  the  dead  King  had  begged  them  do — 
And  brought  with  them  their  daughter  braver 

Yet  no  more  brave  than  bright  and  true. 
She  was  a  choice  and  winsome  child, 

Like  "Father  Mercer,"  meek  and  fair, 
With  laughing  ways,  not  loose  nor  wild, 

But  as  elastic  as  the  air  ; 
On  whom  her  hours  had  easy  whiled, 

As  she  seemed  in  their  songs  to  share  ; 
For  smooth-faced  seasons  fondly  smiled 

To  culture  her  with  kindly  care — 

A  jasmine  vine  with  virtues  rare. 
So  father,  mother,  Jessamine — 

Three  philanthropic,  faithful  hearts — 
Appear  with  purpose  on  the  scene  ; 

They've  sought  the  Utes,  to  teach  them  arts 
And  useful  industries  betimes  ; 

They're  come  for  the  experiment, 
To  crowd  out  cruel  lust  for  crimes 

By  careful  toil  and  true  content ;  - 
For  this — no  more — friend  Mercer  meant ! 
To  teach  them  work  he  chiefly  went. 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES,  199 

Just  at  this  juncture,  thus  they  came, 

To  raise  from  ruin  the  rude  race  ; 
They'd  heard  somewhat  of  Arrow's  fame 

And  left  the  plains  to  find  his  place. 
Mercer  had  made  one  desert  smile 

And  breathe  with  fragrance  bright  and  fresh  ;; 
So  now  with  good  he  would  beguile 

Such  flocks  and  herds  of  human  flesh. 
He  met  the  tribe's  chief  mountain  train. 

In  their  demure  and  slow  descent 
To  go  into  the  parks  again  ; 

And  with  them  thitherward  he  went. 
At  first  he  found  naught  of  his  friend, 

No  trace  of  his  so  tragic  fate  ; 
Yet  dreamed  that  some  most  dreadful  end 

Would  on  himself  and  his  await. 
He  ne'er  had  talked  an  Indian  tongue, 

Nor  might  now  plan  how  to  make  plain 
The  whole-souled  cause  to  which  he  clung ;, 

But  slowly  feared  his  friend  was  slain. 

At  first  a  clue  ;  for  some  such  clothes 

As  Konkaput's,  King  Arrow  wore  ; 
And  in  their  Anglo-Indian  oaths 

Some  swaggering  Utes  about  them  sworer 
In  such  a  way,  by  words  and  signs, 

That  he  suspected  some  foul  play. 
He  watched,  with  dread,  some  dire  designs 

Upon  his  life,  both  night  and  day  ; 
But  they  made  signs  that  he  was  safe  : 

They'd  lay  no  hand  upon  his  life, 
And  charged  that  he  should  no  more  chafe 

With  fear  for  his  dear  child  or  wife. 
Although  they  lived  as  without  law, 

And  strongly  conscious  of  their  strength, 
They  watched  their  guests  with  guarding  awe, 

And  longed  for  intercourse.     At  length, 


200       YOUNG   KONKAPUT,  THE)   KING   OF  UTES. 

Arrow's  heart  ached  to  hear  them  read 

The  papers  found  on  Konkaput ; 
But  shuddered  so  to  show  the  deed, 

A  sense  of  shame  sealed  his  mouth  shut. 
The  wardrobe  Arrow  had  well  worn 

Seemed  Konkaput's,  or  such  as  his  ; 
But  soon  that  Bible,  soiled  and  torn, 

Preserved  and  full  of  phophesies, 
With  margin  notes,  well  named  and  made 

By  Konkaput's  own  careful  hand, 
Was  one  day  down  by  Mercer  laid, 

And,  as  it  stood  upon  his  stand, 
Though  speechless,  their  friend's  death  displayed. 
Then  Arrow  brought  the  papers  he 

Took  wet  from  Konkaput  still  warm, 
In  parchment  put  so  tenderly, 

And  cherished  as  the  dead  Chief's  charm  ; 
And  when  their  contents  became  known, 

All  joined  in  weeping  ;  Jessamine 
Declaring,  with  devoutest  moan, 

"Such  words  and  deeds  were  so  divine, 
The  Ute  King  died  as  to  atone  !  " 
Then  Arrow  owned  the  dreadful  crime, 

With  piercing  wails  of  penitence, 
Confessing,  also,  at  the  time, 

King  Konkaput's  inheritance. 
Then  for  their  King  all  sigh  and  cry  : 
"O  Konkaput,  our  King  and  friend, 
Alas  !  and  thou  didst  live  and  die 

For  others'  good,  even  to  the  end  ! 
Thy  life  a  loving  ministry  ; 
Thy  very  death  a  victory !" 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  201 

SCENES    LIV. 

THE   PAPERS   FOUND   ON   KONKAPUT. 

'The  papers  Arrow  called  "a  charm," 

Taken  from  Kon kaput  when  dead, 
Stained  with  his  blood,  still  moist  and  warm, 

Were  mostly  letters,  Mercer  read, 
From  Trapper  Clark's  most  trusted  friend 

To  tell  this  benefactor's  fate, 
And  some  that  did  the  Ute's  fees  send, 

When  he  was  east  to  educate. 
•One  said  :     '  'Clark's  dying  love  and  grace 

Pleaded  the  cause  of  the  '  Ute  King, ' 
And  prayed  for  every  abject  race — 

He  went  to  Heaven  thus  worshiping  !  ' 
Two  others  were  from  Zinziba, 

Who  did  in  Lincoln's  cause  enlist ; 
And  from  the  gambler,  Borgia, 

"Who  fell  as  a  philanthropist — 

Of  these  just  read,  this  is  the  gist : 


ZINZIBA. 

[  HIS   LETTER   TO   KONKAPUT.] 

Near  Wagner's  Fort :     Dear  friend  so  long, 
Where  slavery  and  gaunt  famine's  wolf 
Were  hunting  us  with  hate  and  wrong, 

And  we  lived  in  loved  ones'  behalf ; 

26 


202   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF 

I  write  to  tell  you  I  am  here  ; 

That  soon  we  move  to  make  attack 
On  forts  that  full  of  fates  appear, 

And  may  be  I  shall  ne'er  come  back. 
If  I  shall  fall,  proclaim  to  all, 

I  dared  as  a  doomed  martyr  die  ! 
I  came  for  conscience  to  the  call 

That  all  my  race  be  free  as  I, 
And  when  the  flags  of  freedom  wave 

In  triumph  over  slavery, 
The  enfranchised  slave  shall  from  my  grave 

Reap  a  diviner  destiny." 
Zinziba — so  the  story  runs — 

Thus  fought  and  at  Fort  Wagner  fell ; 
Whose  widow  and  their  little  ones 

Were  cared  for  by  their  country  well ; 
While  Borgia,  a  bold  dying  man, 

Wrote  from  a  "Rebel  Prison  Pen," 
Scratched  with  a  nail  on  an  old  pan, 

And  copied  thence  by  other  men  : 


HUGH  BORGIA. 
(The  Gambler  Reformed  to  a  Philanthrophist.) 

[BORGIA'S  BENIGN  APPEAL.] 
1  Ho,  all  ye  peoples,  be  it  understood, 
There  is  no  greatness  but  in  being  good  ; 


A  LEGEND  OF  TWIN  LAKES.  203 

There  is  no  pleasure  like  the  Christian  plan, 
Which  makes  men  better  by  belief  in  man, 

Treads  here  the  path  the  Prince  of  Peace  hath 
trod, 

And  makes  men  wiser  by  the  will  of  God  ! 

There's  no  security  in  civil  life 

Where   strong  with  weak   struggle   in   wasteful 

strife, 

There's  no  good  government  against  the  right, 
Nor  where  the  weak  are  so  by  wicked  might ; 

For,  sure  as  faith,  all  races  shall  be  free, 

By  sweets  of  love  or  swords  of  liberty  ! 

Then  let  oppressors  learn  this  prudent  path  : 
'  Provoke  good  will  to  men  and  not  God's  wrath  ! r 
Yea  Lord,  in  this  I  yield  my  life  to  thee, 
And  hope  from  Heav'n  the  ransomed  earth  to 
see, 

Rejoicing  in  thy  realm  so  just  and  right : 

O,  Lord,  let  there  be  light !  let  there  be  light !" 
So  Borgia  passed  into  eternity. 


SCENES    LV. 

THE   PENCILED   NOTES   OF   KONKAPUT. 

King  Kon kaput  kept  in  his  coats, 

And  round  his  Bible,  a  small  roll 
Of  poems,  pencilings  and  notes, 

Which  said  what  subjects  cheered  his  soul. 
One  was  a  record  of  renown 

That  showed  how  many  wandering  tribes 
Now  live  in  houses  of  their  own. 

Another  paper  then  describes 
The  way  he  hoped  his  tribe  to  win 

From  vagabondage,  beastly  vice, 
And  every  savage  source  of  sin, 

Before  his  own  presaged  demise. 


204   YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Such  data  seem  almost  divine  ; 

They  indicate  his  heart  indeed, 
For  on  each  leaf  Christ's  love  doth  shine 

So  clear  and  bright  the  blind  can  read. 
It  says  :  "I'll  teach  my  Utes  to  toil ; 

Will  turn  their  wishes  toward  the  plains, 
To  seek  for  fields  some  fertile  soil, 

That  we  can  fill  with  fruits  and  grains  ; 
I'll  teach  their  youth  to  read  and  write, 

And  give  their  souls  God's  saving  love  ; 
Yes,  my  poor  Utes  may  yet  unite 

With  good  below  and  God  above  !  " 
The  notes  were  notable  indeed, 

For  their  far-reaching  thought  and  facts, 
Relating  both  to  human  need 

And  heartlessness  of  human  acts. 
The  poems,  full  of  pith  and  power, 

Were,  some,  as  apt  as  earth  e'er  saw  ; 
And  one,  adapted  to  the  hour, 

Was  on  the  death  of  Colonel  Shaw, 
And  writ  t'  unfold  how  poor  "Zeeb  "  fell, 
His  future  witness  to  foretell. 


COL.  ROBT.  G.  SHAW, 

A  noble  Boston  boy,  who  was  buried  under  twenty  of  his  colored 
"braves  that  fell  with  him  in  their  charge  on  Fort  Wagner,  S.  C. 
He  had  said:  "  If  I  am  killed,  these  colored  boys  will  honor  me  ! 
In  history  they'll  rise  and  be  my  witnesses." 


A  LEGEND   OF  TWIN   LAKES.  205 

SCENES    LVI. 
"THESE  BE  MY  WITNESSES." 
Sweet  witnesses  are  such,  to  swear, 

By  all  the  blood  drawn  from  their  veins, 
By  all  the  power  of  faith  and  prayer, 

By  all  the  debt  of  stripes  and  pains, 
By  all  the  lust  and  crime  confessed, 

By  wrongs  ancestral,  rank  and  deep, 
With  fearful  ratio  unredressed — 

Enough  to  make  an  angel  weep — 
That  brave  black  men,  brought  here  by  theftr 

And  long  degraded  down  as  slaves, 
Can  not  by  treason  be  bereft 

Of  their  birth-right  as  Freedom's  Braves  !  'r 
Rare  witnesses,  to  rise  and  stand 

Within  tiie  Nation's  Judgment  Hall, 
As  if  with  bayonet  in  hand 

To  drive  "  Dread  Scott-hood  "  to  the  wall ; 
In  Halls  of  Congress  to  appear 

And  plead,  like  Christ,  their  living  cause, 
From  age  to  age,  and  year  to  year, 

Demanding  just  and  equal  laws; 
And  each  quadrennial  to  stand — 

That  sable  score,  with  solemn  air — 
Before  the  White  House,  to  demand 

That  equal  rights  reign  always  there  !.' 
High  witnesses  are  they,  henceforth, 

Against  all  tyrants,  till  that  day 
When  proud  oppressors,  South  and  North 

Shall  hear  the  Judge  of  all  men  say  : 
'  In  that  ye  have  not  done  to  these, 

My  poorest  brethren  though  they  ber 
The  deeds  of  pity  that  I  please, 

Ye  have  not  done  them  unto  me !  " 
In  every  age  and  everywhere 

These  martyred  men  shall  rise  and  tell 


206    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

The  world  to  keep  with  willing  care 

The  famous  spot  whereon  they  fell  ! 
Shaw's  witnesses,  to  share  his  deed, 

Held  in  reserve  in  his  own  grave, 
To  rise  in  every  time  of  need 

And  plead  the  cause  of  every  slave  ; 
In  poesy  to  rise  and  sing 

The  sublime  meed  of  such  a  doom, 
When  future  freedmen  fondly  bring 

Their  cherished  chaplets  to  this  tomb  ; 
To  rise  in  history  and  crown 

His  young  and  beauteous  Saxon  brow 
With  moral  grandeur,  that  renown 

Before  which  Fame  herself  shall  bow ! 
Christ's  witnesses  !    The  King  of  Kings 

Will  own  their  worth  in  all  the  earth 
And  breathe  a  benizen  that  brings 

Hope's  blessings  to  my  heathen  birth. 
For,  if  the  negro  race  now  rise 

And  come  to  life  in  Christian  lands, 
A  sublime  motive  this  supplies 

To  my  red  race  of  roving  bands. 
Heaven  speed  the  day,  and  haste  its  dawn, 

When  races,  white  and  black  and  red, 
Shall  all,  in  well-drilled  legions  drawn, 

March  for  the  Truth  with  mingled  tread. 
My  Indian  race  must  not  decrease  ! 

Whatever  to  me  may  betide, 
I'll  teach  to  practice  arts  of  peace 

With  good  my  goal  and  God  my  guide. 
Though  long  race  struggles  rend  the  land, 

I'll  face  the  future  without  fear, 
And  still  undaunted  will  I  stand 

And  hark  my  Maker's  voice  to  hear  ; 
For  God  is  good  and  good  is  God, 

And  wisdom  its  own  way  shall  win  ; 
My  race  shall  bow  before  His  rod 


A   LEGEND   OF  TWIN  LAKES.  207 

As  children  chastened  for  their  sin. 
And  my  poor  Utes  must  yet  appear, 

Exalted  by  Heaven's  aiding  hand, 
Advancing  upward  year  by  year, 

Till  in  both  Church  and  State  they  stand  ; 
Aye,  children  taught  in  church  and  school, 

Shall  lift  their  hopes  to  life  and  Heaven, 
And  have  their  rights,  and  help  to  rule — 

The  greatest  good  to  mortals  given  ! 
Far  down  the  future  I  -do  see 

Ute  children's  children  cherishing 
The  fruits  of  Truth  on  Freedom's  tree, 

With  all  oppressions  perishing  ! 
The  pale-faced  nation  soon  shaH  know 

What  rights  and  wrongs  are  in  array, 
Nor  wish  our  weakness,  want  and  woe, 

Nor  war  to  wipe  us  all  away  ! 
But  millions  wasted  to  make  worse 

Shall  be  well  used  to  make  us  wise, 
To  convert  every  vicious  curse 

Into  progressive  enterprise  ; 
Yes,  the  Ute  race  will  yet  arise 

With  a  wise  effort  to  be  free  ; 
Men  agonize  to  earn  their  prize, 

And  lives  well  lost  win  liberty  ! 
The  future's  bright  before  my  eyes  ! 


SCENES    LVII. 

ARROW'S  REPENTANCE  AND   REFORMING    POWER. 

Those  letters  from  the  lifeless  form 
Of  Konkaput — that  seemed  to  be 

Stained  with  his  blood,  still  wet  and  warm, 
So  freely  shed  to  set  them  free — 

Gave  Arrow  a  grand  range  of  grief ; 
For  his  best  friend,  when  but  a  boy, 


208    YOUNG  KONKAPUT,  THE  KING  OF  UTES. 

Kind  Konkaput,  their  Christian  Chief, 

He  had  dictated  to  destroy, 
Through  "bitterness  of  unbelief!" 
The  relics  all,  as  read,  were  rare, 

And  took  such  hold  upon  his  heart 
That  he  soon  came  to  Christ  in  prayer, 

And  thence  pursued  a  Christian's  part  ; 
Led  forth  his  tribe  with  useful  laws, 

As  their  great  Chief,  chastened  with  grief,. 
Their  wisest  Sachem  ever  was, 

Of  Indian  diplomats,  the  chief, 
Proclaiming  Konkaput's  own  cause, 

Now  born  of  his  benign  belief. 
He  sought  out  haunts  in  peaceful  scenes, 

Securing  him  a  civil  home, 
Where  peaks  confront,  and  intervenes 

A  royal  park  where  Utes  might  roam, 
And  yet  where  he  might  have  his  field, 

Hire  helpers  for  his  harvesting, 
And  thence  his  worthy  sceptre  wield 

O'er  all  the  Utes,  as  their  own  King, — 

His  squaw,  Chopeta,  cherishing. 

A  later  sort  of  legend  saith  : 

At  that  sad  season  of  the  years, 

He  went,  indeed,  until  his  death, 

To  wet  the  turf  with  his  warm  tears 

And  sound  abroad  his  broken  sighs — 
(Like  David  by  Chief  Abner's  bier) — 

Where  Holy  Cross  could  hear  his  cries, 

And  peaks  to  peaks  echo  replies  : 
"My  nation's  hope  was  made  known  here  ! 

A  wise  Ute  King  was  once  killed  here  ; 

My  Konkaput  was  martyred  here  !  " 


A   LEGEND   OF   TWIN   LAKES. 
SCENES    LVIII. 

THE   MERCERS'    MISSION. 

Mercer,  both  manly,  bold  and  meek, 

Unto  his  heathen  brethren  brought 
The  needed  arts  they  never  seek 

And  tirelessly  those  arts  he  taught. 
He  went  forth  with  them,  even  where 

The  trappers  plied  their  peltry  trader 
And  then  induced  these  Indians  there 

Awhile,  indeed,  to  lend  their  aid. 


"TUTOR  MERCER." 

Ditches  were  dug  for  watering  fields  ; 

Fields  were  platted,  plowed  and  sown  ; 
Young  harvests  rose  in  ripening  yields, 

And  every  worker  won  his  own. 
Houses  appeared  among  the  hills  ; 

Hammers  were  heard  resounding  high,. 
And  meadows,  shops  and  flouring  mills 

Were  soon  beheld  by  passers  by. 
27 


210       YOUNG  KONKAPTJT,   THE  KING  OF   UTES. 

The  desert  blossomed  as  the  rose  ; 

Domestic  birds  and  beasts  abound  ; 
He  sought  for  friends  'mong  savage  foes, 

And  fancied  all  is  peace  profound  ! 
•  Mistress  Mercer's  frugal  mind 

Helped  Ute  women  here  to  sew  ; 
Kept  them  to  pappooses  kind  ; 

Taught  them  household  duties,  too. 
Jassamine,  that  joy  of  girls, 

Turned  a  teacher  in  a  trice, 
And,  more  precious  far  than  pearls, 

Made  Ute  misses  neat  and  nice. 
She  loved  children,  too,  from  choice  ; 

Won  their  love  by  winning  ways  ; 
And  ne'er  bird  had  sweeter  voice 

Than  hers  sounding  heavenly  praise. 
Her  little  garden  was  aglow 

With  fragrant  wild  flowers,  fresh  and  fair. 
Pond  lillies  white  and  pure  as  snow 

And  heliotropes  exhaled  in  air  ; 
Wild  roses  with  their  welted  ring, 

So  rich  in  rare  simplicity, 
A  fit  corona  for  a  King, 

Vied  with  each  tamed  variety. 
And  as  Ute  braves  are  passing  by, 

And  take  slight  squints  at  the  white  squaw, 
The  Indian  women  wonder  why 

They  don't  such  admiration  draw — 
A  sweet  bouquet  is  her  reply. 
Here  let  us  drop  the  legend  veil ; 

A  "key"  is  left  us  to  unlock 
The  untold  future  of  their  tale 

That  may  full  many  a  maiden  shock  ; 
'For  fiction  is  less  strange  than  facts, 

And  truths  of  a  rude,  treacherous  race 
Are  read  the  best  in  their  real  acts  : 

.Next,  these  we'll  try  in  truth  to  trace. 


CHALK  CUT  OF  PAWNEES  AT  CARLISLE,  1889. 


THE  KEY  OF  KQNKAPUT, 

OR 

PACT  STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY 


THE  MASSACRE,   CAPTIVITY  AND  RESCUE; 
.ADAMS,  OURAY  AND  SHAWSHEEN, 

AND 

"GOD   BI.ESS  SUSAN." 


NATHANIEL   C.   MEEKER. 


THE  KEY. 

SCENES    LIX. 

BREAKING   THE    SECRET. 

The  long  bound  secret  let  us  break ! 

The  scene  of  Shawsheen's  sacrifice, 
And  her  salvation  from  the  stake 

No  supple  legend  now  supplies. 
An  army  officer  asserts 

That  by  his  force  the  brave  squaw's  fate 
Was  changed  from  death  to  her  deserts — 

But  his  account  he  can  best  state  : 
He  says  :    "On  Cache  Poudre's  plain, 

Where  stands  a  patronymic  town, 
A  brave  Ute  girl,  bound  to  be  slain, 

Was  found,  in  rank  of  first  renown, 
And  rescued  (as  before  we  read) 

When  round  her  rose  the  ring  of  fire, 
And  she  was  deemed  as  good  as  dead, 

The  victim  of  most  vile  desire  !  " 
This  soldier  hence  called  her  "  Susan,'' 

A  Jewish  name  that  meaneth  "joy," 
And  sent  her  with  a  courteous  man,* 

Who  did  his  best  despatch  employ 
To  reach  the  far-off  Ute  tepee  ; 

Found  there  her  nearest,  dearest  friends, 
And  for  them  set  the  captive  free, 

Supposing  there  her  history  ends. 
"Nathaniel  Mercer,"  Meeker  now, 

The  type  and  father  of  that  town 
Which  places  high  in  rank  the  plow, 

As  loaded  harvests  long  have  shown, 

*  Interpreter  Curtis  accompanied  the  rescued  captive  to  her 
own  overjoyed  people. 


216  FACT  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 

IBecame  official  "Indian  Friend  ;  " 
And,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  he 

Went  off  to  the  "  White  River  Bend  " 
To  teach  the  Utes  true  industry  : 

With  this  man's  fate  mere  fictions  end — 
Nothing's  so  tragic  as  real  tragedy  ! 


SCKNES    LX. 

IHE  MASSACRE  OF   THE  WHITE    MEN. 

This  man,  with  masterly  attempt, 

Made  houses,  gardens,  orchards,  farms, 
On  which  "poor  Indians"  poured  contempt 

Incapable  of  civil  charms. 
His  wife,  a  refined  woman  rare, 

Was  regular  as  Order's  rule, 
And  her  young  maid  was  meek  and  fair, 

And  scolded  not  in  her  Ute  school. 
His  employes  were  excellent, 

Well  purposed  people  every  one  ; 
True  coadjutors,  kind,  content, 

And  doing  well  what  could  be  done. 
Upon  their  homes  the  Heavens  smiled ; 

Beneath  their  hands  bright  harvests  waved 
And  every  one — man,  woman,  child — 

Was  with  the  Indians  well-behaved. 
But  on  a  soft  September  day, 

When  peace  seemed  sweet  as  Paradise, 
And  light,  like  a  loved  halcyon,  lay 

Upon  the  dale,  savage  device 
Leapt  on  this  laboring  of  pure  love, 

Pillaged  and  sackel  the  sacred  scene, 
Martyred  the  men,  ere  they  could  move, 

Au'd  strewed  their  corpses  on  the  green. 
There  Meeker,  Thompson,  Shepard,  Post, 

Eaton,  Bskridge,  Dresser,  Price, 
A  prostrate,  hallowed,  precious  host 

Of  martyrs  by  most  brutal  vice, 


THE;  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.        217 

"Were  gathered  from  their  gory  bed 

Where  fire  and  ball  had  felled  them  all, 
And  garnered  down  as  goodly  dead 

Beneath  the  cotton-willows  tall ; 
While  far  away  their  forlorn  wives 

And  children  rode  in  cheerless  pain, 
"With  threats  to  torture  out  their  lives 

If  they  ceased  not  to  mourn  their  slain  ; 
Yes,  mothers,  children,  the  fair  maid, 

Were  captives  of  that  caravan 
-Of  red  men,  who  had  made  the  raid 

Upon  a  preconcerted  plan. 
The  lazy,  lousy  libertines 

Forced  female  virtue,  so  forlorn, 
Adding  to  murder  all  the  sins 

Of  Adam's  race  since  sin  was  born. 
'Tis  due  to  truth  that  we  declare 

Rape,  arson,  murder,  theft,  all,  crown 
This  raid  of  pampered  red  men  there — 

And  history  doth  hand  it  down  ! 
language  but  fails  us  to  lay  bare 

The  base  design  thus  to  destroy 
A  first  class  effort,  kind  and  rare, 

To  lead  the  Utes  to  peace  and  joy. 
The  noble  story  's  stated  new  : 

"I  would  have  saved  you  :  ye  would  not !" 
Alas  !  they  know  not  what  they  do  !" 

Falls  still  the  groan  that's  still  forgot. 
The  army,  all  America, 

On  hearing  the  intelligence, 
Are  dumb,  amazed  !  at  this  display 

Of  diabolic  ignorance  ; 
While  human  sympathy's  suspense 

Seeks  solace  from  Heaven's  holy  seat, 
And  goeth  up  to  gather  hence 

Mercy  for  such  emergence  meet ! 

28 


218  FACT  STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

SCENES    IvXI. 

MISS  JOSEPHINE   MEEKER   AND   THE   YOUNG    DEFENDER, 
FRANK   DRESSER. 

Good  Josephine— God  bless  her ! — 

In  the  attacking  hour, 
Spoke  to  her  young  friend  Dresser, 

These  words  of  point  and  power  : 
"Here,  Frank,  take  Price's  rifle  ! 

Your  duty  must  be  clear, 
For  'tis  no  time  to  trifle  ; 

The  fiends  are  hovering  near  !  " 
Then,  with  this  weapon  rested 

Upon  the  window  sill, 
His  timely  aim  he  tested 

A  killing  Ute  to  kill. 
The  stalwart  Indian,  wounded, 

Fell  instantly,  stone  dead  ! 
The  foe  was  thus  confounded, 

And  the  women  safely  fled. 
Now  see  them  flying,  crying, 

Into  the  copse  near  by  ! 
In  sight  of  dead  and  dying, 

Hear,  too,  that  savage  cry  ! 
The  flashing  bang  of  rifles, 

The  flying  up  of  flames, 
The  sacking  whoop  that  stifles 

All  mention  of  their  names, 
While  Frank  is  bravely  covering 

The  women's  swift  retreat ! 
Then  wounded,  weak  with  suffering, 

He  flies  with  thorn  pierced  feet, 
Into  the  bustling  sage  brush, 
But  stands  by  woman  still, 
Till  all  the  Utes,  enraged,  rush 

Crying  "  kill  him  !  kill !  kill !  !  " 
But  to  the  women,  "hold  !  hush  !  " 


THE;  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.       219- 

As  them  they  held,  he  hasted 

From  sight  among  the  sage, 
Till  weary  hours  were  wasted — 

Each  hour  an  anxious  age  ! 
Then  in  dim  twilight,  dreary, 

He  slyly  scanned  the  slain, 
Then  went  forth  sad  and  weary, 

Weeping  with  grief  and  pain, 
And  reached — no  way-aide  tavern, 

No  house  upon  the  heath — 
But  a  cold,  late  dug  cavern 

To  lie  down  lone  in  death  ; 
To  spend  last  hours  in  sorrow, 

With  friends  all  far  away  ! 
He  may  not  hail  the  morrow  ; 

He'll  die  ere  dawn  of  day  ! 
The  fatal  wounds  were  flowing  ; 

The  keen-point  cacti  stung  ;. 
And  while  the  night  was  going 

His  rest  was  anguish  wrung ! 
He'd  sought  help  from  the  soldiers  ; 

He'd  hoped  to  reach  his  home  ; 
But  stormed  by  Ute  stadt-holders  (?) 

His  hour  of  death  has  come  ! 
His  fleeting  moans  are  muffled, 

For  fear  the  foes  will  hear  ; 
His  mortal  coil  is  shuffled  ; 

No  mortal  caring  near  ; 
His  coat  and  rocks-  as  pillows, 

His  gun  set  at  his  side, 
As  one  beneath  the  billows 

So  struggled  he,  and  died  !. 


220  FACT  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 


SCENES 

FRANK  DRESSER'S  FIGHT  ALONE  WITH  DEATH. 
That  brilliant  youth,  thus  brave  and  young, 

Hid  in  a  hole  they  had  cut  for  coal, 
And  in  this  secret  place  there  sung, 

Or  rather,  sighed  away  his  soul  : 
"Alas  !    Indeed  I'm  here  with  death  ! 

Lo  !    I  must  die  —  must  die  alone  ; 
No  parting  word  !     No  pitying  breath  ! 

My  fate  is  now  to  all  unknown  ! 
Ah  !   did  I  say  "Alone  with  Death  !  " 

All  die  alone  —  alone  with  God  ! 
Who  brought  me  both  my  life  and  breath, 

Where'er  my  truant  feet  have  trod  ; 
Who  lead  me  on  from  youth  to  man  ; 

Whose  spirit  oft  spoke  in  my  ear  : 
'This  life  at  best  is  but  a  span, 

And  every  day  is  dying  here  !  ' 
Alone,  indeed,  with  death  and  God  ! 

I  fall  before  their  bidding  fate 
And  reach  the  hand  that  holds  the  rod  — 
Though  suffering  here  by  savage  hate  ! 
I'm  not  afraid,  O  Death,  to  die  ! 

The  Savior  of  my  soul  I  see, 
By  this  lone  bed  whereon  I  lie, 

A  mighty  Christ  has  come  to  me  ! 
Farewell,  this  world  of  fearful  war  ! 

Farewell,  even  foes  and  far-off  friends  ! 
I'll  join  beloved  ones  just  before  ; 

I'll  dwell  with  ye  when  dying  ends  ! 
O  Death,  stern  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

My  body,  not  my  soul's  distressed  ; 
Thou  dost  not  come  as  Terror's  King  ; 

Thou  kindly  bring'st  me  to  Christ's  breast, 

There  now  I'm  blessed  with  painless  rest  ! 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER  FAMILY.  221 

SCENES     LXIII. 

FAREWELL   TO   FATHER   MEEKER. 

(Published  first  during  the  captivity.) 

Mr.  Meeker  said  :  "I  came  to  this  agency  with  the  full  belief 
that  I  could  civilize  the  Utes ;  that  I  could  teach  them  to  work 
and  become  self-supporting.  I  thought  that  I  could  establish 
schools  and  instruct  both  Indians  and  their  children  in  learning. 
I  have  given  my  best  efforts  to  this  end,  always  treating  them 
kindly,  but  firmly.  They  have  eaten  at  my  table  and  received 
continued  kindness  from  my  wife  and  daughter,  and  all  the  em- 
ployes about  the  agency  ;  and  now  the  man  for  whom  I  have 
done  the  most  has  turned  on  me  without  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion, and  would  have  killed  me  but  for  the  white  laborers  who 
got  me  away.  They  are  an  unreliable  and  treacherous  race. 
Their  whole  complaint  is  against  plowing  the  land,  against  work 
and  against  the  schools." — Father  Meeker  to  Colonel  Steele,  Sep- 
tember jo,  1879. 

Thou  guileless  martyr,  friend  of  man  and  God, 

Who  hast  defined  our  nation's  duty  now 
So  blamelessly  and  sealed  it  with  thy  blood — 

That  red  men  must  be  made  to  read  and  plow — 
A  monument  is  rising  to  thy  name 

Which  never  will  be  found  to  fade  or  fall ; 
Thy  tragic  death  has  given  thee  deathless  fame  ; 

Thy   name's   revered   by  all,   both  great   and 

small. 
'Twere  vain  to  tell  thee  of  the  tearful  voice 

That  mourned  thy  death  and  men,  both   night 

and  day  : 
Earth's  sorrows  would  not  make  thy  soul  rejoice, 

Nor  wash  thy  guileful  murderer's  guilt  away. 
Though  thou  didst  plead  for  life  both  loud  and 
long, 

Now  a  great  nation  grieves  about  thy  grave, 
Nor  is  it  strange  to  say  that  nation's  strong 

And  full  of  brilliant  forms  both  firm  and  brave. 
Large  bodies  slowly  move  to  save  even  life  ; 

Yet  heroes  hastened  as  half  out  of  breath, 


222  FACT   STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 

And  gallant  Thornburg  greeted  first  the  strife, 

And  daring  men  foretasted  even  thy  death  ; 
Till  a  beleaguered  band,  for  thine  own  sake, 

Did  bleed  and  famish  'mid  the  bloody  foe, 
And  sable  men  did  such  forced  marches  make 

Their  fellow-soldiers'  fate  with  thine  to  know. 
'Twere  vain  to  tell  thee  of  the  cruel  vice 

Imbedded  deep  in  the  imbruted  brain 
Of  hardened  Utes,  who,  like  the  hidden  ice- 
Berg  floating  in  the  billowy  main, 
Would  bruise  and  break  the  worthiest  bark 

That  links  all  lands  and  labor  into  one : 
Thou  knowest  too  well  the  way  they,  in  the  dark, 

Deep  wastes,  do  hide  their  wicked  deeds  when 

done  ! 
It  were  not  wise  to  wait  and  watch  the  scene 

Where  employes  would  plow  and  plant   the 

place, 
That  grain  might  grow  and  stand  in  living  green, 

To  cheer  and  cherish  such  a  churlish  race  ; 
Nor  dare  we  speak  in  fancy's  fearful  spell 

Our  thought  of  captives  killed,  or  kept  away 
From  aching  hearts  wherein  they  ever  dwell, 

And  feed  our  faith  and  fears  whene'er  we  pray. 
But,  "Father  Meeker,"  thee  we  bid  farewell ! 

We  need  not  think  of  thee  as  though  now  dead  ; 
Thy  sweet  resolves  of  good  shall  rise  and  swell 

Above  the  guilt  that  built  thy  gory  bed, 
And  breathe  forth  blessings  from  the  breast  of 
Time, 

Till  Time    herself  shall  drape  this    hurrying 

sphere 
With  crapen  weeds  for  man's  last  cruel  crime, 

And  catch  with  tenderest  care  his  latest  tear. 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.        223 


SCENES 

THE   SIEGE   OF    OUR   SOLDIERS. 

The  day  they  martyred  Meeker, 

The  Utes  attacked  our  troops, 
With  blast  and  storm  far  bleeker 

Than  ever  shipwrecked  sloops. 
The  night  Dresser  lay  dying 

The  troops,  besieged,  lay  bare, 
And  deadly  foes,  defying, 

Kept  regal  guard  in  air  ! 
From  the  bold  heights  above  them, 

They  hurled  down  leaden  hail  ; 
So  that  to  march  or  move  them, 

Or  stand,  were  still  to  fail. 
Those  fortresses  of  Nature 

The  soldiers  had  to  pass, 
Were  more  than  men  of  stature, 

And  '  'mighty  men"  en  masse, 

Or  howitzers  of  brass. 
Thence,  like  the  thunder's  lightning, 

When  pent  up  torrents  pour, 
Hid  "braves"  their  heights  kept  brightening 

'Mid  rapid  death  shots'  roar, 
And  if  a  soldier  lifted 

His  luckless  head  in  sight, 
Swift  bullets  fast  were  sifted 

Like  shot  from  a  tower's  height. 
Six  days  they  so  beleaguer 

The  "bojs  in  blue"  there  bound  ; 
While  to  besieged  besieger 

Seems  hovering  all  around  — 

Their  hole*  dug  in  the  ground  ! 
Six  days  !   Then  safety  entered, 


*  The  soldiers  dug  a  large  pit,  using  the  earth  for  embank- 
ment, but  could  neither  go  for  water  nor  send  forth  a  messenger; 
nor  could  they  go  in  force  to  find  their  hidden  foes  without  all 
falling  one  by  one  in  the  futile  effort. 


224  FACT   STRANGER  THAN  FICTION, 

With  shout  and  weeping  song 
Where  siege  with  death  had  centered 
And  hours  seemed  ages  long  ! 
Let  us  prolong  that  shout  and  song. 


SCENES    L,xv. 

THE   SOLDIERS'    SUPPLICATION   AND   SONG   ENDING   THE   SIEGE, 

The  Sabbath  morn,  through  brightest  air, 
Heard  troops  forlorn  breathing  this  prayer  : 
"Thou  Captain  of  Salvation, 

We  can  but  come  to  Thee ; 
Who  seest  our  situation, 

What  our  sad  fate  must  be  ! 
Is  there  no  help  from  Heaven  ?' 

Is  there  no  aid  on  Barth  ? 
Is  there  no  succor  given, 

To  guide  us  safely  forth  ? 
Almighty  Savior  hear  us, 

And  raise  this  savage  siege  ! 
O  !  make  these  Utes  yet  fear  us, 
And  own  the  Lord,  their  Liege  !'r 

While  the  besieged  are  praying, 

There  comes  deliverance  kind, 
The  bugle's  calls  are  playing, 

And  shouts  waft  on  the  wind  ! 
Then  joins  Merritt,  the  General, 

With  Captains  Dodge  and  Payne  ; 
To  mingle  faith  and  funeral 

Of  both  the  saved  and  slain  ; 
And  brave  Lieutenant  Cherry, 

And  soldiers,  cheer  on  cheer, 
Make  Sabbath  morning  merry 

With  songs  we  still  can  hear. 
For  thus  in  soul  they're  singing, 

With  weeping  and  delight, 


226  FACT  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 

Till  rocks  and  trees  are  ringing 
And  height  echoes  to  height : 
"Sing  praise  for  our  salvation 
To  Him  by  whom  we  live  ; 
United  adoration 

To  God,  our  Savior,  give  !" 
The  Lord,  our  Liege,  hath  raised  the  siege  ! 

SCENES    LXVI. 

THE    MARTIAL   MOURNING   OVER   OUR    MARTYRED   MEN. 

Those  heroes  rescued,  heed  ! 

"  The  dead  bury  their  dead  !'' 
How  slowr  and  sad,  indeed, 

They  march  with  muffled  tread 
'To  lay  beneath  the  sod 

Bach  fallen  injured  form, 
Whose  soul  had  gone  to  God 

Out  of  that  savage  storm  ! 
Their  duty  to  the  dead 

Is  seen  in  every  eye  ; 
In  tears  so  timely  shed  ; 

In  silence  and  in  sigh  ; 
In  "  volleys  "  *  sadly  fired  ; 

In  sacred  service  said, 
And  talk  as  they  retired  : 

"These  duties  to  the  dead 
:Suggest  that  yonder  sun 

Hath  not  yet  ever  seen 
A  massacre — not  one — 

More  base  than  this  hath  been  ! 
Ne'er  a  completer  case, 

Of  cruel,  vicious  crime, 


*  Mr.  H.  H.  Hamilton,  who  went  with  the  troops'underGen. 
Merritt,  said:  "The  body  of  Mr.  Meeker,  found  with  a  barrel 
stave  in  his  mouth  and  a  log  chain  round  his  neck,  was  buried 
with  military  honors,  the  soldiers  firing  a  volley  over  his  grave, 
and  scarcely  a  dry  eye  was  seen  among  the  men  who  performed 
the  sad  duty." 


'THE    FATE   OF   THE   MEEKER    FAMILY.  227 

Hath  risen  from  any  race, 
In  all  the  rounds  of  time  !'' 

-So  said  the  sorrowing  band, 

That  buried  there  the  slain, 
In  such  lone,  savage  land  ; 

That  they  might  there  remain 
And  consecrate  the  ground 

To  grander  life  and  growth, 
Till  benefits  abound 

To  slay  both  vice  and  sloth  ! 


SCENES  LXVII. 

THE  PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 

(Published  during  their  captivity.) 
"While  sad  hearts  are  bleeding  and  hopes  lying 

dead, 
And  silent  harps  hang  where  the  willow  tree 

waves, 

And  the  Angel  of  Song  bows  in  sorrow  his  head 
Where   the    Muses    sit    mourning   o'er    fresh 

martyr  graves, 
A  suspense  far  more  painful,  concerning  the  fair — 

The  mothers,  the  maid,  in  captivity  led — 
Makes  fancy,  affection  and  faith  fill  the  air 

With  visions  more  vivid  than  ever  were  read. 
The  faces  maternal,  majestic  with  love, 

And   glowing  with   patience,  so   glad  in   the 

past; 
And  the  virgin,  with  virtue  all  values  above, 

At  first  look  the  same  as  when  we  saw  them 

last; 

.But  visions  of  hardships  they've  vainly  endured, 
And  scenes  the  most  thrilling  which  they  have 

passed  through, 

With  naught  to  sustain  them  but  faith  well  as- 
sured, 


228  FACT   STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 

Rise  up  with  rough  voices  to  change  the  rare 

view. 
The  mothers  seem  bearing  the  burden  of  years  ; 

The  maid  'mid  events  more  weighty  than  time  ; 
But  tersest  emotions  that  marshal  their  tears, 
Still  sit  on  their  faces  in  sadness  sublime. 
While  the  wild  men's  mean  vices  the  visions  more 

change, 
And   the   look  and  the  laugh  of  the  lawless 

phalanx 
Smite    the    fancy  with  facts  all   so   fearful  and 

strange, 
That  my  faith  quite  recoils  from  the  face  of 

their  ranks. 

Yet  affection  will  follow,  and  fancy  still  flies 
To  the  wild  men  and  women  there  wandering 

away, 
While  their  pale  Christian  captives  point  up  to- 

the  skies  ; 
And  with    them   we   gain   strength   in   God's 

presence  to  pray  : 

God  pity  the  captives  !  In  their  weakness  and  woe 
Give  strength  for  their  want ;  and,  O,  straight- 
way restore 
Their  face  to  our  friendship,  for  suspense  make 

us  know 
Their  cruel  captivity  soon  shall  be  o'er  ! 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY. 
SCENES    LXVIII. 

JOSEPHINE   MEEKER'S    FEARLESS   MOTTO. 

This  valiant  scene's  since  come  to  view, 

In  the  lone  captives'  life  : 
Chief  Douglas  once  his  firelock  drew 

And,  brandishing  his  knife, 
Threatened  the  Christian  maid  to  kill 

If  she  should  dare  to  flee, 
Or  disobey  his  bestial  will, 

Whatever  that  may  be. 


229 


JOSEPHINE  MEEKER   IN   HER   CAPTIVE   ATTIRE- 

The  muzzle's  on  the  maiden's  brow ; 

The  dagger's  lying  there  ; 
Our  fancy  hears  the  rifle  now, 

The  bullet's  whiz  in  air ; 
Nor  breaks  the  shudder  with  a  breath, 

Till  she  is  heard  to  say  : 
"I  fear  not  Indians  nor  death  !  " 

And  Quingnant*  sneaks  away. 
'Tis  worth  four  weeks  of  waiting  for  ; 

It  fills  well  a  felt  want ; 


*  Quingnant  was  this  chief's  name.     He  was  called  Douglas 
from  his  supposed  resemblance  to  Senator  S.  A.  Douglas. 


230  FACT  STRANGER   THAN   FICTION. 

It's  almost  worth  an  Indian  war, 

To  thus  return  their  taunt ! 
The  Indian  service,  the  whole  line, 

From  post  to  President, 
Might  deem  this  motto  as  divine  ; 

It  seems  from  Heaven  sent ! 
Aye,  every  officer  and  man, 

When  forced  into  the  field, 
With  a  loud  voice,  leading  the  van, 

Should  wield  it  as  a  shield  ; 
For  did  not  Adams  also  say  : 

"  I  fear  them  not !  "    This  said 
He  took  their  captives  soon  away — 

The  living  from  the  dead  ! 

SCENES    I.XIX. 

THE  CHEERING    COINCIDENCE   OF   CARLE   ADAMS'    COMMISSION:, 

At  this  sad  point  of  sore  suspense, 

That  seemed  more  anxious  every  hour, 
The  time,  the  instant,  most  intense, 

Oppressive,  even  beyond  our  power, 
A  man  of  most  illustrious  name,"" 

That  is  in  nations  far  off  known 
For  keen  diplomacy,  here  came, 

Defying  death  upon  his  throne  ! 
And  with  commission  kind  and  wise 

Made  haste,  with  Ouray's  mandate  highf 
To  seek  the  captors  in  surprise, 

Demand  the  captives  ere  they  die, 
And  in  his  country's  name  require 

That  rapine  shall  be  punished  well, 
And  arson,  seen  in  forest  fire, 

And  buildings  burned  where  white  men  dwell. 


*  A  German,  Mr.  Swanbeck,  whose  name  was  changed  by- 
law, became  the  General  Carle  Adams,  who  was  sent  by  Presi- 
dent Hayes  to  Ouray,  the  Utes'  High  Chief,  to  demand  of  him 
the  release  of  the  captives.  This  word  came  the  very  day  "The 
Painful  Suspense"  first  appeared  in  print. 


THE  FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY.  231 

High  Sheik  Ouray  an  escort  sent 

As  General  Adams'  aid, 
Whence  he  to  Ute  encampment  went 

To  get  the  captive  maid  : 
The  order  is  :    "  The  captives  give 

To  this  white  man's  demand  ; 
For  who  would  let  such  outlaws  live 

In  peace,  in  any  land  ! ' ' 
This  royal  law,  without  reserve, 

Is  sent' without  delay  : 
But  Princes  must  their  rank  preserve, 

Each  Sachem  have  his  say  ; 
And  so  they  parley  for  a  pause, 

To  talk  the  matter  over, 
And  see  by  what  sage  Indian  laws 

To  try  this  case  of  "  plover." 


SCENEvS    I, xx. 

THE   UTE  COUNCIL   ON   THE  RIO   GRANDE;     OCTOBER   21,    1879. 
(A   CASE   OF   PLOVER.) 

The  Council  met  in  mad  conclave 

To  seal  the  captives'  fate, 
And  show  the  white  man  Utes  are  brave, 

Their  aggrieved  "  Nation  "  great  1 
The  scene  is  on  Grand  River  *  laid, 

And  in  a  beauteous  vale  ; 
Near,  snow-capped  mountains  lift  their  head  ; 

The  Autumn  sun  shines  pale. 
vSo  very  pleasant  is  the  place, 

That  solemn  Nature  smiles, 
While  waiting  for  this  wicked  race 

To  ventilate  their  wiles  ; 
Who,  smeared  with  blood,  and  smoke  and  paint, 

And  clad  in  dead  men's  clothes, 


*  Platteau  Creek  a  branch  of  Grand  River,  Colorado,  is  some- 
times given  as  the  place. 


232  FACT  STRANGER   THAN   FICTION 

Spend  five  full  hours  iu  fierce  complaint, 

Adorned  with  English  oaths. 
Though  soldiers  North  and  soldiers  South, 

And  martyrs  in  the  rear, 
And  frost  in  front  with  famished  mouth, 

Their  quarters  close  appear, 
They  say  :  ''We've  some  eight  hundred  souls, 

Los  Finos  several  more  ; 
And  where  the  Uncompahgre  rolls 

Are  hundreds  just  a  score  ! 
So  we're  a  'Nation/  you  will  see  ; 

We  treat  with  you  like  men  ; 
Our  captives  can  but  women  be — 

With  children,  now  and  then — 
Their  sires  and  husbands  though,  we  slew, 

Because  jour  soldiers  f  came  ; 
We  burned  your  buildings,  too,  a  few, 

But  claim  we're  not  to  blame  ! 
Why,  we  once  seized  on  all  the  soil 

Between  the  bounding  seas, 
And  working  races  did  so  spoil 

We  could  do  as  we  please. 
But  since  we've  sold— to  save  our  lives— 

So  much  of  our  estate, 
Thereon  the  threatening  pale  face  thrives 

And  well-armed  warriors  wait. 
Yet  white  men  have  not  paid  us  all 

They  promised  they  would  pay, 
And  Reservations,  really  small, 

You  now  would  take  away. 
You  won't  allow  us  equal  laws 

That  would  good  faith  fulfill, 
But  violate  our  very  squaws 


f  The  approach  of  soldiers  to  support  Mr.  Meeker's  authority 
was  made  a  pretext  for  the  massacre;  for  they  said:  ''Father 
Meeker  will  not  obey  us,  and  so  we  had  to  kill  him  ;  and  the  sol- 
diers, too,  if  they  unbidden  cross  our  borders." 


THE   FATE  OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY.  233 

And  waste  us  as  ye  will ! 
You  change  our  forests  into  farms, 

And  say  :  '  Now  plow  and  sow  !' 
And  if  'gainst  this  we  take  up  arms, 

You  swear :  'The  Utes  must  go  !' 
Do  ye  despise  us  every  day, 

Defy  us  to  our  face, 
And  fancy  we'll  like  fools  obey, 

And  bow  before  your  race  ? 
What  if  we've  caught  a  few  white  squaws, 

Indeed,  whom  you  demand  ; 
They're  not  a  fraction  in  our  cause  : 

We've  claims  on  every  hand  !" 
Thus  spake  Persune,*  that  potent  Chief 

Who  showed  his  sheltering  shield, 
When  Douglas  dared  Miss  Meeker's  grief, 

But  yet  to  him  did  yield. 
Then  this  grand  Douglas  gravely  rose — 

Not  from  the  grave  in  fact, 
"The  Little  Giant,"  to  propose 

Another  "  Kansas  Act ;  " 
Nor  a  Scotch  King  to  lead  his  clan  ; 

But  who,  with  flag  at  mast, 
Ordered  his  scouts  to  kill  the  man 

Who  carried  "  Meeker's  last."  f — 
[That  note  so  trait-like  and  so  true, 

So  beautiful,  benign, 


*  Persune,  who  took  Miss  Meeker  away  from  Chief  Douglas, 
is  made  the  first  speaker  here,  because  he  is  supposed  to  have 
felt  the  first  interest  in  retaining  the  captives,  and  was  perhaps 
the  most  fit  in  fearless  capacity  to  define  and  defend  the  whole 
Indian  cause.  He  was  clad  in  dead  soldiers'  clothes — "pants 
•with  stripe,"  etc. 

f  Meeker's  last  letter  was  to  Major  Thornburg,  the  morning 
of  the  massacre,  saying:  "Douglas  is  flying  the  United  States 
flag.  I  will  come  with  him  and  another  chief  and  meet  you 
•to-morrow."  Its  last  sentence  was  the  question  :  "  Did  you  have 
.any  trouble  in  coming  through  the  canon?"  Canon  means  a 
gorge,  or  deep,  "dark  valley."  (See  Ps.  xxiii,  4.)  Meeker  met 
'Thornburg  the  next  day  with  a  different  Chieftain  from  Douglas. 
30 


234  FACT  STRANGER  THAN   FICTION.. 

It  brings  death's  valley  into  view 

By  its  last  closing  line.] 
This  chief— that  outraged  innocence 

With  brandished  steel  and  threat — 
He  stands  with  stolid  insolence, 

The  Ute  high  umpire  yet. 
He  says  :    "  I've  had  great  troubles  sore,, 

Till  the  White  River's  red  : 


THE  SCENE  ON  TITE:  RIO'  GRANDE. 
But  let  my  mountains  bleed  no  more 

Nor  soldiers  send  us  dread. 
We've  never  made  on  women  war, 

Nor  sought  it  for  their  sake  ; 
So,  you  must  have  what  you're  sent  for, 

But  must  this  promise  make, 
That  troops  shall  go,  nor  come  again, 

Till  water  will  not  run  !  " — 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY. 

Here  Adams  says  :   "They  shall  remain 

Till  my  demands  are  done  !  " 
Next  the  "good  Indian,"  Gordon's  guest, 

Who  slew,  the  following  day, 
His  host's  dear  brother,  going  west, 

And  got  his  goods  away  ; 
The  loafing  curse,  who  last  year  killed 

Poor  Blliott  in  the  park, 
Because,  forsooth,  he  simply  willed 

To  shoot,  and  wished  a  mark, 
And  when  his  friendly  victim  fell, 

His  red  tramps  raised  a  shout — 
A  laugh  full  hoarse,  like  fiends  from  hell, 

And  then  the  Utes  struck  out ; 
Yes,  that  ignoble  Ute  speaks  now. 

Hear  pseudo  Colorow's  speech — 
'  Against  improvements  anyhow," 

No  matter  where  they  reach  ! 
He  says  :    "  Your  railroads  run  off  game  ; 

Your  armies  do  also  ; 
The  sight  of  you  soon  does  the  same 

To  elk  and  buffalo. 

For  this  the  mountains  we  must  fire, 

To  fetch  us  game  again  ; 
And  then  as  prisoners  you  require 

The  proudest  of  our  men. 
And  you  have  sent  soldiers  to  bind 

Us,  chiefs,  in  felons'  chains  ; 
To  which  no  Indian  is  inclined, 

While  he  has  breath  or  brains. 
Hence  we  have  shed  some  white  men's  blood 

But  we  are  not  to  blaine  ! 
Ye  would  not  do  as  we  said  you  should  ; 

And  we  must  get  our  game  !  " 
Here  rose  Chief  Jack— a  charger  he, 

A  Prince  in  war-paint  proud, 


236  FACT   STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

Who  shot  good  men  so  gallantly 

And  now  is  boasting  loud — 
He  says  :     "Your  dictates  would  degrade 

Us  Chiefs  to  childish  whites, 
But  we've  much  fires  in  forests  made 

To  reaffirm  our  rights. 
You  mean  to  make  us  maintain  schools, 

And  break  up  ground  for  bread, 
As  if  we  were  a  race  of  fools 

With  nothing  in  our  head. 
But  we  are  all  Ute  Indian  braves  ! 

For  us  white  schools  no  good  ; 
We'd  like  white  squaws  to  live  as  slaves 

And  fix  our  furs  and  food. 

We  will  be  kind  to  them,  because 

They  can  both  sew  and  cook, 
So  square  accounts  ;  we  11  keep  your  squaws, 

But  burn  up  every  book ! 
We're  bound  to  keep  the  captives  still 

To  bring  us  better  terms  ; 
For  that  you've  done  us  yet  no  ill 

This  policy  affirms  !  " 
Here  Wapattils,  and  several  more, 

"All  eager  for  the  fray," 
Fly  to  their  feet  to  "get  the  floor," 

And  see  what  each  can  say  ; 
But  he  who  first  "  Friend  Meeker"  shot 

As  the  Mercurius  stands 
And  cries  :     "  I'd  die  upon  this  spot 

Ere  yield  to  these  demands  ! 
Why  should  we  give  up  these  white  squaws, 

Which  we've  let  live  too  long? 
By  all  our  best  laid  Indian  laws 

We've  done  to  them  no  wrong. 
And  this  demand  is  false,  no  doubt ; 

They'll  force  us  yet  to  fight ; 


THE  FATE  OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY.  237 

I  know  by  sight  what  they're  about ; 

To  smite  this  man  were  right ! 
Who  fear  !  Doth  life  seem  now  so  dear  ! 

L,o,  does  an  Indian  live, 
Who  dares  not  do  this  deed,  for  fear 

White  Father'll  not  forgive? 
I/et  red  men  all  arise  as  one 

And  kill  our  common  foe  ! 
For  Ute,  Apache  and  Shoshone 

All  said  :  '  Meeker  must  go  ?  '  ' 
Here  all  applaud  in  high  pow-wow, 

And  make  the  mountains  ring  ; 
Till  Adams'  guard,  one  Shevanow — 

And  "every  inch  a  King"- 
Commanded,  "Silence!  "  and  then  said  : 

"  We  Southern  Utes  want  peace  ! 
You  guilty  dupes  are  good  as  dead  ! 

Our  brotherhood  must  cease  !  " 
Then  Johnson*-  -childish  doctor,  Chief — 

Whose  faithful  squaw  stands  fast, 
Arises  here  in  horrid  grief 

For  what  has  lately  passed  ; 
And  from  his  rude,  relenting  breast, 

He  pleads  with  friendly  phrase 
That  they  must  make  these  captives  blessed 

And  some  way  win  their  praise. 

*  Chief  Johnson  was  the  "medicine  man"  who  married 
Susan,  and  greatly  to  her  chagrin  and  grief  assaulted  Mr. 
Meeker  violently  several  days  before  the  massacre,  but  after- 
ward apologized  and  seemed  penitent. 


•238 


FACT  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 


SCENES     LXXI. 

AN   INDIAN   WOMAN'S   ELOQUENCE. 

Just  at  this  juncture  Susan  *  came  ; 

And  like  a  queen  she  felt 
In  her  rich  robes  ;  yet,  large  and  lame, 

With  pistols  in  her  belt, 
Her  heart  was  tender  as  a  child  ; 

Her  voice — a  sister's  love^- 
Was  wondrous  sweet  and  wierd  and  wild 

'Twas  bathed  in  Heaven  above ! 


SUSAN— SHAWSHEEN. 

With  gesture  suited  to  her  word, 
She  by  both  hand  and  heart 

So  moved  upon  that  savage  herd 
That  tears  were  seen  to  start ; 


*  Mrs.  Meeker  says  :'  "  The  Council  was  a  stormy  one.  After 
hours  of  violent  speeches,  Mrs.  Johnson  (Susan)  burst  into  the 
lodge,  in  a  magnificent  wrap,  and  demanded  that  the  captives  be 
set  free,  war  or  no  war.  He  brother  Ouray  had  so  ordered,  and 
she  took  the  assembly  by  storm.  She  told  the  pathetic  story  of 
the  captives,  and  advised  the  Indians  to  do  as  Ouray  commanded, 
trusting  to  the  mercy  of  the  government.  Gen.  Adams  then 
said  he  must  have  a  decision  at  once.  That  settled  it,  and  we 
were  set  free." — Greeley  Tribune,  November  12,  1879. 


THE   FATE   OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.  239 

And  while  she  made  their  cause  her  own, 

The  captives  cried  to  Heaven, 
And  thrilled  the  centre  of  God's  throne, 

Till  good  escape  was  given. 

•SUSAN'S  APPEAL  FOR  HER  OPPRESSED  WHITE  SISTERS. 

She  said  :  <l  How  heed  ye  not  Ouray  ? 

He  sent  this  white  man  here 
To  bid  you  this  demand  obey  ; 

The  Great  White  Father  fear  ! 
I  do  denounce  all  ye  have  done 

To  rouse  his  mighty  wrath  ; 
For,  behold  now  his  war's  begun, 

And  pouring  down  our  path. 
With  soldiers  north,  now  settling  near, 

And  fierce  men  south  in  force, 
All  waiting  word  from  you  to  hear, 

How  can  ye  take  this  course? 
Five  hours  your  reckless  words  have  run 

Opposing  even  Ouray — 
Till  now  the  sad  retiring  sun 

Doth  take  away  the  day  ! 
W7hy  w7ould  you  wage  unequal  wars  ; 

With  your  white  brethren  break  ? 
Must  I  discover  here  my  scars, 

Borne  from  the  burning  stake  ? 
'Twas  white  men  rescued  me  from  red, 

And  saved  my  limping  life  ; 
Then  hurl  your  hatred  on  my  head, 

But  spare  the  white  man's  wife  ! 
How  did  they  send  me  safe  and  far 

To  find  my  tribe  and  friends ! 
But  ye  take  captives— as  of  war — 

Whom  '  The  White  Father '  sends. 
Nay  :  Ye  have  murdered  their  white  men, 

Who  came  to  us  most  kind  ; 


240  FACT   STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

And  crime  on  earth  hath  never  been 

More  cruel  and  more  blind  ! 
I've  warned  you  oft  agaicst  the  crime 

For  which  white  men  are  sent 
To  live  in  prisons  a  long  time, 

Till  they  shall  there  repent ! 
I  call  to  mind  full  many  a  scene 

Which  our  traditions  trace, 
Where  Indians  have  unrighteous  been, 

Brought  ruin  on  their  race  ; 
Where  Christian  wives  and  maids  were  kept 

As  lonely  captives  long, 
Till  swelling  wrath  arose  and  swept 

Away  both  race  and  wrong ; 
And  now  I  warn  you,  do  not  let 

Yon  sun  sink  down  in  wrath  : 
You  may  be  saved  from  ruin  yet 

By  peace,  your  only  path  ! 

These  captives,  you  can  scarce  conceive 

How  desolate  they  are  ! 
Or  how  they  for  their  kindred  grieve, 

And  pine  as  in  despair  ! 
Their  fathers,  husbands,  whom  ye've  slain, 

Whose  cries  ring  still  in  air, 
All  like  a  wandering  wail  remain, 

An  imprecating  prayer ! 
I  tell  you,  too,  these  pale-faced  squaws 

Are  talked  of  tenderly 
By  far  off  friends,  whose  faithful  laws 

Shield  life  and  liberty  ; 
And  the  Great  Spirit  speaks  a  woe 

No  stubborn  Ute  can  stand  : 
'  If  you  don't  let  these  captives  go, 

At  kind  Ouray's  command, 
The  Christians'  God  your  guilt  will  know, 

And  fight  on  every  hand  ! ' ' 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY. 

As  Susan  thus  their  cause  sustains, 

With  valiant,  loving  voice, 
Glad  Seraphs  sing  their  glorious  strains, 

And  all  the  Just  rejoice  ; 
While  bending  Heavens  around  her  shine, 

And  the  Great  Spirit  there 
Descends,  with  influence  divine, 

In  answer  to  the  prayer 


241 


MRS.  NATHANIEL   MEEKER. 


Of  captives,  crying  in  their  tent : 

"  O  Christ,  come  down  to  save  !  " 
And  soon  in  safety  they  are  sent 

Away — as  from  the  grave  ! — 
The  mingling,  tender,  parting  tears, 

As  on  their  breasts  she  wept, 
Are  treasured  in  God's  golden  years. 

And  in  His  bottle  kept.     [Ps.  Ivi,  8.] 


242  FACT  STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 


SCENES 

THE  CAPTIVES'    FLIGHT. 

Along  the  old-time  Indian  trail 
In  Captain  Cline's  command, 

Over  mountain,  hill  and  dale, 
Behold  the  home-bound  band  ! 


Still  trembling  lest  the  untrue  race 
Should  change  once  more  their  mind, 

And  for  the  fugitives  give  chase, 
Just  as  their  lust  inclined. 

Hurried  by  fear  and  flushed  with  hope, 
The  captives  homeward  fly, 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY.  243 

Till  they  escape  the  savage  scope 

And  Ouray's  mansion  spy. 
Here  "Father  Meeker's"  only  son 

Met  mother,  sister — saved  ! 
The  meeting  is  a  matchless  one, 

Too  glad  to  be  engraved  ! 
No  words  have  power  to  illume  the  page 

Where  such  hearts  meet  and  melt — 
At  Ouray's  door,  the  savage  sage — 

The  facts  are  seen  and  felt ! 
There  kind  Chopeta,  calm  and  chaste, 

Of  Ouray  squaw  and  Queen, 
Receives  them  heartily,  in  haste, 

With  a  wise  woman's  mien  ; 
Then  on  and  on  with  horses  fleet, 

They  fly,  till,  run  by  rail, 
The  Greeley  households  haste  to  greet 

Them  with  exultant  hail ; 
And,  home  at  last,  the  mother  lies 

Upon  her  bed  of  rest, 
Watched  by  o'erjoyed  yet  weeping  eyes, 

And  pillowed  on  the  breast 

Of  filial  love  full  blessed  : 

In  home's  sweet  haven  rest ! 


•244  FACT  STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

SCENES    I.XXIII. 

TO  THE   MEMORY  OF  MISS  JOSEPHINE   MEEKER, 

The  heroic  captive  held  by  the  cruel  Utes,  September,  1879.  Born 
in  Hiram,  Ohio,  January  28,  1859;  died  in  Washington,  December 
30,  1882.  Buried  in  Greeley,  Colorado,  January  5,  A.  D.  1883. 

Lay  her  down  tenderly,  lovingly,  tearfully  ; 

For  she  hath  well  done,  and  suffered  so  well  ; 
Hath  cherished  sad  hearts,  so  hopefully,  cheer- 
fully, 
'Mid  tortures  more  cruel  than  Christians  can 

tell; 
Hath  met  as  a  heroine  menace  so  hateful, 

With  courage  so  queenly  it  won  her  a  crown 
Of  life  and  good  fortune  that  looks  now  so  fateful, 
We  mourn  her  more  deeply  as  wre  lay  her  down, 
Bnwreathed  with  fresh  roses  and  fragrant  re- 
nown. 
So  faithfully  joyous,  so  fearless,  yet  fragile  ; 

So  constant  and  trusting,  so  kindly  and  true  ; 
So  modestly  skillful,  with  movements  so  agile  ; 

And  genius  and  fancy,  enjoyed  in  so  few ; 
With  faith  all  triumphant,  professions  all  truthful, 
And  motives  unquestioned  by  master  or  maid  ; 
With  few  years  full  freighted,  yet  feelings  fresh, 

youthful, 

Most  eager  to  render  her  old  mother  aid — 
How   natural   to    wish    now    her   death   were 

delayed ! 

But  death  owns  all  climates  and  all  human  classes; 
Exempts  from  his  aim  none— nay,  aimeth  at 

all— 

The  children  and  chieftains,  old  ladies  and  lasses, 
Kings,  queens  and  victors — he  vanquisheth  all ; 
And  "there's  no  reprieve  from  this  notable  war- 
fare," 
Nor  favor,  physician,  nor  friendship  can  save; 


THE   FATE   OF   THE  MEEKER   FAMILY.  245 

No  brother,  no  patron,  not  President  Arthur,* 
Can  rescue  this  maiden,  so  brilliant  and  brave, 
For  the  pathways  to  glory  all  lead  to  the  grave  ! 
She  is  dead  !     We  have  waited  with  sadness  and 

weeping 
Till   her  corse   its  long  journey,   cold,   silent, 

hath  come, 
Where  the  kind  widowed  mother  her  watch  still 

is  keeping 
With  a  stricken  sad  heart  in  a  strangely  sad 

home. 

God  bless  the  old  lady  !     Go  speak  to  her  prayer- 
fully, 
With  sisters  and  brother,  and  all   them   that 

mourn  : 
Then  take  the  corse  tenderly,  carefully,  tearfully, 

Lay  it  'mid  flowers  from  stalks  freshly  torn, 
And  cherish  her  crosses  with  Christian  hope  cheer- 
fully ; 

Her  spirit  by  the  Angels  to  Heaven  is  borne  ! 
DENVER,  Jan.  5,  1883. 


*  Miss  Meeker  held  an  important  office  in  the  Interior  De- 
partment, and  died  of  pneumonia,  during  President  Arthur's 
administration.  He  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  sought- her  recov- 
ery to  health. 


246  FACT   STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 


SCENES 

THE  DEATH  OF  ARROW,  OR  CHIEF  OURAY. 

Ouray,  who  was  long  a  sort  of  Duke  in  the  Indian  land,  never 
fully  recovered  from  the  shock  he  felt  over  the  fate  of  the  Meeker 
family.  He  died  apparently  from  the  effect  of  his  mental  depres- 
sion a  few  months  before  the  departure  of  their  tribe  to  the 
Territory  of  Utah.  His  success  as  an  Indian  farmer  and  inter- 
mediate friend  of  the  Utes  and  whites  will  be  found  in  the 
"  Ouray  Times"  of  1878. 


Ouray,  or  as  translated,  Arrow — 

Bore  fatally  the  late  Ute  war 
Of  savage  deeds  and  died  of  sorrow, 

Of  pining  spirit — pure  despair, 
For  his  own  trusted,  treacherous  tribe ; 

Yet  Utes  and  whites  unite  to  weep 
Before  his  bier,  and  fain  would  bribe 

Away  death's  deep  and  wasteful  sleep. 
But  like  the  lofty  beetling  pines 

That  draw  the  bolts  down  to  their  base 
And  shroud  themselves  on  smoking  shrines,. 

He  fell  before  his  forest  race 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.  '247 

A  sacrifice  by  sudden  fate 

That  leapt  like  lightning  from  the  clouds 
And  laid  his  princely  life  prostrate 
Before  his  mourning,  faithful  mate, 

And  wrapt  his  form  in  wreaths  and  shrouds. 
He  had  indeed  at  heart  desired 

That  bounteous  industry  abound, 
And  often  spoke,  as  if  inspired 

With  grace,  to  teach  to  till  the  ground  ; 
And,  justly  chosen  Agent-Chief 

For  our  Republic  to  his  race, 
He  had  obeyed  his  best  belief 

And  planned  in  faith  to  fill  his  place — 
Till  grandeur  graced  his  dying  grief ! 
O,  son  of  nature  !    noble  soul, 

In  whom  both  races  had  abode, 
Whole  continents  helped  thy  control 

And  aimed  to  pay  the  debt  they  owed  ; 
For  Congresses  and  Presidents, 

And  Governors  of  good  degree, 
Combined  to  pay  thee  compliments  ; 

And  all  the  world  will  honor  thee 
As  nature's  own  inheritance  ! 
God  bless  thy  race  because  they're  thine  ; 
Chopeta  bless  with  cheer  benign  ; 
And  God  bless  Susan,  good  Shawsheen  1 


SCENES    LXXV. 

A  FINAL  SONG   FOR  SUSAN — FAIR  SHAWSHEE1*. 

(HOW   "  GOD-BLESS-SUSAN  "    WAS   FIRST 

GIVEN   TO   HER   IN   SONG.) 

My  soul  with  pride  still  sings  the  praise 

Of  Nature's  noble  heroine, 
Whose  heart  still  holds  her  hallowed  days 
And  works  so  wisely  wisdom's  ways, 

That,  amid  demons,  she's  divine  [ 


248  FACT  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. 

When  "Father  Meeker"  had  been  slain, 

His  wife  and  daughter  deemed  as  slaves, 
And  held  in  lust's  most  hateful  chain, 
In  peril,  famine,  fear  and  pain, 

She  (Lord  bless  Susan)  loves  and  saves  ! 
Aye,  GOD  BLESS  SUSAN  !    I  will  sing 

And  fill  the  sopg  brimful  of  prayer  ; 
Let  breath  of  Heaven  to  her  heart  bring, 
Like  carrier  pigeons  on  the  wing, 

The  holiest  love  of  Heaven  to  her  ! 
For  mid  the  brawny  madmen's  brawl, 

When  Adams'  effort  almost  fails, 
And  adverse  fate  seems  down  to  fall 
On  the  poor  captives,  one  and  all, 

Her  princely  eloquence  prevails. 
Poor  Madame  Price  and  progeny, 

Miss  Josie  Meeker,  maiden  fair, 
And  the  old  widow,  she  sets  free, 
Leads  them  all  forth  to  liberty  : 

So,  God  bless  Susan  !  be  our  prayer. 
Let  calm  old  age  come  to  her  late  ; 

Full  long  preserve  her  prime  of  life  ; 
Let  her's  be  peace  and  love's  estate 
And  the  Ute  nation  on  her  wait 

For  strength  of  faith  to  cease  their  strife  ! 
Let  "Uncle  Sam's"  United  States 

With  generous  impulse  join  to  prove 
How  men  still  feel  the  Meekers'  fates 
By  the  Ute  monsters — mad  ingrates  ! 

And  Susan's  more  than  sister's  love  ! 
Let  every  nation,  kindred,  race, 

Have  knowledge  of  her  noble  fame, 
And  mark  the  power  of  matchless  grace 
In  this  kind  Indian  woman's  case, 

And  GOD-BLESS- SUSAN  !  be  her  name. 
DENVER,  September  28,  1879. 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER   FAMILY.  '249 

SCENES    LXXVI. 
KING  PSEUDO   "COLOROW"   SECOND. 

"OLD  COLOROW  is  DEAD  !" 

As  our  best  people  all  believe, 

The  Utes  expelled  themselves  by  sin  ; 
Yet  renegades  yearn  to  receive 

Kind  welcomes  back  our  bounds  within. 
One  such  "poor  savage" — Simon  pure — 

King  Colorow  Second,  sometimes  called — 
Was  a  usurper,  we  are  sure, 

Whom  the  "Ute  Nation  "  ne'er  installed. 
This  man  that  made  fierce  mountain  fires, 

And  was,  at  best,  as  those  who' re  but 
The  worthless  sous  of  worthy  sires, 

And  was  no  kin  to  Konkaput — 
When  last  he  came  across  the  line 

Of  Colorado — his  dear  land — 
That  shall  his  ancient  name  enshrine, 

He  hurled  afar  his  fire-brand  ! 
Soon  the  whole  State  he  startled  so, 

It  seemed  as  if  another  siege 
Were  bursting  up  from  worlds  below, 

And  ambushed  on  each  beetling  ledge ; 
Till  willing  thousands  soldiers  went, 

Into  this  dire  Ute  Indian  war,  (?) 
;A  hundred  thousand  dollars  "  spent 

For  "Uncle  Samuel  "  to  pay  for. 
They  felt  such  fear  where  troops  once  fell, 

The  Adjutant— one  General  West- 
Wired  hot  these  words  :  *  "  We'll  give  them  hell !" 

Reserving  for  ourselves  the  rest. 
This  seemed  as  if  the  "Western  Sea" 

Were  deemed  too  good  to  be  their  grave, 


*  That  was  General  West's  exact  dispatch  sent  to  Governor 
Alva  Adams,  his  appointer  and  patron,  and  is  very  suggestive 
of  the  spirit  of  wars  of  expulsion  generally. 
32 


250  FACT   STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

And  that  a  bloodless  victory 

Old  Colorow's  life  alone  could  save  ; 

And  so  he  trudged  to  his  Ute  friends 
Where  soon  a  fever  sealed  his  fate. 

And  thus  the  "  Colorow  "  Kingship  ends 
That  named  our  new  Centennial  State, 
On  which  millions  of  white  men  wait ; 

And  every  year  millions  expends  ! 

THE  BARBAROUS   RACE   SHALL   RISE   AND   SHINE. 
"A   NOVEL   BEAUTY." 

A  Washington  correspondent  in  the  winter  of  1881-2  wrote  : 
"At  the  Garfield  tea  party,  held  in  the  Rotunda  of  the  Capitol, 
there  -was  one  beautiful  stranger  who  excited  every  one's  in- 
terest. She  was  tall,  exquisitely  slender  and  graceful,  with  fine, 
delicate  features,  a  creamy  complexion,  and  eyes  and  hair  like 
midnight.  She  was  a  Princess  of  the  Cherokee  Nation,  with  a 
soft,  musical  name  of  that  dialect.  She  is  wife  of  a  wealthy 
Indian  farmer  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the 
world.  She  wore  also  just  the  dress  an  experienced  artist  would 
have  put  her  in  as  most  fit." 

The  barbarous  race  shall  rise  in  beauty, 
Admired  among  the  gay  and  grand, 

Created  new  by  Christian  duty, 

From  last,  first  owners  of  the  land. 

Like  coral  islands  in  mid  ocean 

Shall  even  Ute  abjects  yet  appear, 

Restored  to  life  by  love's  devotion 
That  toileth  upward,  year  by  year. 

We've  seen  some  samples  of  the  savage 
Transformed  by  truth  and  faith  and  trust, 

And  rising  from  that  fearful  ravage 

That  doomed  whole  races  to  the  dust ; 

Some  pleasing  flowers  plucked  from  the  forest, 
And  nourished  but  by  native  blood, 

Among  all  beauteous  forms  the  fairest- 
Children  of  Nature  and  of  God. 

No  longer  squaws  of  squalid  foetnen, 
In  desolation  doomed  to  roarn, 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  MEEKER  FAMILY.  251 

We  welcome  you  as  wives  of  yeomen 

Who  cheer  their  heart  and  cheer  their  home, 

And  standing  even  by  men  of  Honor 
In  the  Rotunda  of  the  realm, 

The  model  wife,  with  wisdom  on  her, 

That  cheers  even  Statesmen  at  the  helm. 

How  mighty  is  this  movement  moral, 

That  "  turns  a  savage  to  a  saint ;  " 
That  builds  its  reef  of  beauteous  coral, 

Where  ages  past  have  poured  their  plaint, 
Like  tears  of  woe  in  wind  tossed  oceans, 

Till  silent,  soft,  serene  and  slow, 
The  toil  untold  of  Christian  notions 

Doth  build  up  beauteous  from  below  ! 

SCENES    LXXVIII. 
AN  ODE  TO  PAULINA,   THE  INDIAN  PARAGON. 

"The  devout  and  loving  wife  of  a  young  army  Lieutenant, 
she  died  in  child-bed,  and  was  buried  by  her  father,  Chief 
Spotted  Tail,  with  special  ceremonies.  She  was,  indeed,  very 
beautiful  in  form  and  spirit,  and  her  sufferings  and  death  were 
occasions  of  general  and  intense  sorrow." — (See  Rocky  Mountain. 
News,  September  4,  1881.) 

O  beauty  rare,  of  rudeness  born, 
As  fresh  as  air  on  wings  of  morn, 
As  free  of  care  as  echoing  horn, 
That  farmers  hear  o'er  fields  of  corn, 

When  maidens  kind  them  homeward  call ! 
As  chaste  as  Pliny's  cherished  wife, 
As  loving  as  Lucretia's  life, 
And  strangely  adverse  to  all  strife 

As  if  thou  'rt  grown  the  Graces*  all ; 

*  The  Greek  "Three  Graces"  were  Aglaia,  "a  shining  one  ;'r 
Thalia,  "  the  mirthful  one,"  and  Euphrosune,  "the  well-minded 
one."  Brilliant,  witty  and  well-meaning,  therefore,  must  be  the 
maiden  or  madame  who  impersonates  them,  and  Paulina  is  said 
to  have  naturally  possessed  all  these  qualities  in  a  remarkable 
degree.  It  is  not  strange  the  Lieutenant  was  captivated  by  her 
in  spite  of  his  own  people's  opposition.  Yet  the  Christian 
Graces  add  a  still  nobler  charm. 


252  FACT   STRANGER  THAN   FICTION. 

O  child  of  nature,  charmed  by  one 
Who  knew  thine  equals  even  none, 
As  bright  and  beaming  as  the  sun 
When  glad  Aglaia  glows  to  run 

The  hour-glass  rounds  of  earnest  glee  ; 
Of  Brightness  taught — that  brilliant  elf—- 
And quick  of  thought  as  Thalia's  self, 
And  well  disposed,  disdaining  pelf, 

As  fair  and  fond  Euphrosune  ! 
O  pure  Paulina  !  patient  bride, 
Like  dead  Faustina  thou  hast  died  ; 
And  buried  near  thee,  by  thy  side, 
Thine  infant's  life,  to  be  thy  guide 

Where  babes  are  borne,  safely  above  ! 
May  it  not  be  the  blessed  Name 
Of  Him  whose  blood  blots  out  all  blame 
Hath  come  to  thee  whence  trothal  came, 

And  God's  embrace  gives  brighter  love  ? 
Let  heathen  hearts  beat  hard  in  grief ! 
Let  savage  love  seek  sore  relief, 
From  choicest  grains  garner  the  sheaf, 
Bringing  its  gifts  as  garlands  brief, 

And  lay  them  by  thy  bed  so  lone  ! 
Let  beauteous  steeds  close  by  thee  stand, 
Lie  implements  by  either  hand  ; 
But  choicer  be  "the  cherub  band" 
That  comes  to  thee  at  Christ's  command, 

To  bear  thy  babe  before  His  throne 

And  seal  it  there  thv  Savior's  own  ! 


THE   FATE   OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY. 


253 


SCENES     LXXIX. 

AH-SAM   BY   THE   ARCTIC   SEA  :     THE   MOST   INDUSTRIOUS 
AND   LAST   TO   DIE   AT   LENA   DELTA. 


IN 
MEMORY 

OF 

TWELVE 

OF   THE 

OFFICERS  &   MEN 
OF  THE 


ARCTIC    STEAMER,    "  JEANNETTE," 

WHO   DIED   OF   STARVATION   IN 

EN  A     DELTA,     OCTOBER,     1881. 
LIEUTENANT 

G.  w.  BELONG. 

DOCTOR 

J.  M.  AMBLER. 
J.  J.  COLLINS. 

W.  LEE. 

A.   GORTZ. 

A.  DRESSLER. 

H.  ERICHSEN. 

G.  W.  BOYD. 

N.  IVERSON. 

H.  KNACK. 

ALEXIA. 

AH-SAM. 


"AH-SAM;" 

AND   THE  ARCTIC   EXPLORERS'    DYING   SCENE. 

Ah-Sam,  the  name  that's  last  enrolled 
At  Lena  Delta,  on  the  cross 
That  marked  the  monumental  loss 

Of  twelve  explorers,  true  and  bold, 

Is  worthy  of  pathetic  song 


254  FACT   STRANGER   THAN   FICTION. 

In  honor  of  the  human  race 
And  of  the  cold  and  cheerless  place 
Where  slept  with  him  the  brave  De  Long. 

'Tis  fit  the  cross's  towering  form 

Should  vindicate  those  valiant  names 
All  radiant,  as  oriflammes, 

From  hearts  in  winter  zones  so  warm 

That  half  the  world  is  set  aglow 
With  admiration  for  the  braves 
Who,  starving  into  storied  graves, 

Bore  side  by  side  such  bitter  woe. 

That  Ah-Sam  leapt  "the  Chinese  wall " 
To  find  and  love  some  foreign  laud 
And  in  her  lot  of  labor  stand 

And  with  her  fearless  heroes  fall, 

And  have  among  their  names  his  own — 

Though  last  and  least  it  there  appears— 
Entitles  him  to  share  our  tears 

When  weeping  o'er  them  all  so  lone. 

Brave  men,  indeed,  who  dared  endure 

So  many  perils  to  explore 

The  frozen  realms  ne'er  reached  before, 
In  hope  such  knowledge  to  secure 
As  should  enrich  the  races  all, 

And  bear  down  into  distant  time 

The  service  of  their  faith  sublime  — 
Aye,  brave  men  all,  who  thus  can  fall  ! 

Nor  have  they  died  indeed  in  vain  ! 

Nor  did  their  expedition  fail  ; 

Though  not  a  ship  should  ever  sail 
Upon  the  "open  northern  main," 
Or  e'en  attempt  to  find  again 

The  long-suspected  Arctic  sea 

In  every  season  safe  and  free, 
Unbound  by  the  Borean  chain. 


THE  FATE  OF  THE   MEEKER   FAMILY.  2o5 

It's  worth  a  hundred  lives  indeed 

To  show  a  courage  of  such  kind, 

By  several  races  so  combined, 
And  under  scientific  lead. 
Yet,  mark  how  feeble  Science  is 

Before  such  forces  a  ad  such  fates, 

Where  frost  on  famine,  fiend-like,  waits, 
And  Death  demands  all  hands  as  his ! 

A  little  knowledge  now  might  save 
By  turning  hope  to  either  hand, 
Where  they  could  ample  food  command  ; 

But  this  great  lack  led  to  the  grave. 

So  little  ignorance  !  so  great ! 

That  from  their  hands  near  succor  hid, 
Doth  oft  to  men  life's  means  forbid, 

And  fix,  alas,  their  fearful  fate  ! 

The  saddest  of  all  scenes  to  me 

Is  where  De  Long  near  plenty  wrote, 
Mid  dying  men,  this  dismal  note  : 
'  We  breakfasted  on  willow  tea  ; 

All  joined  in  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  cried  ; 
Alexy,  Lee,"  even  nine,  "are  dead  ; 
Collins  is  dying  !  "  the  last  read — 

De  Long,  and  then  poor  Ah-Sam  died  ! 

Not  far  from  bread  they're  starved  and  dead  ! 

What  fearful  pictures  fancy  paints  ! 

In  Arctic  snows  where  their  tears  froze, 
Their  wet  eyes  close  on  all  earth's  woes  ; 
Their  last  life  faints  in  feeble  plaints, 
And  from  that  scene  each  breeze  that  flies 
Along  the  coast  of  current  years 
Shall  bring  afresh  those  frozen  tears, 
And  wake  them  warm  in  weeping  eyes — 
Where  Ah-Sam  lingers  last  and  dies  ! 


256  FACT   STRANGER   THAN   FICTION. 

And  labor,  such  as  his,  shall  last, 
And  to  Lis  race  his  humble  name 
Shall  lend  a  lustre  of  true  fame, 

Till  Hope  shall  e'en  her  halo  cast 

That  "work"  shall  somehow  win  the  way 
For  the  poor,  heathen  Chinese  race 
To  rind — a  few — some  fitting  place, 

Even  here,  to  start  upward  and  stay  ! 


SCENES 

CAPTAIN   JACK'S   FINAL   KEY-NOTE   FOR   THE   CONTINENT. 

"  Meeker  say  :  '  Ute  must  work  ! '  Utes  say  '  Meeker  plow 
no  more  !'  Ute  no  work,  no  like  work  !  Ute  no  school ;  Ute  hate 
school!  Ute  fight;  Ute  heap  o'  fight!"  [Chief  Jack  to  Major 
Steele  just  before  the  Meeker  massacre.] 

The  Nation's  isssue's  now  defined  ; 

Ute  Jack  has  uttered  it  just  right ; 
All  Indians  not  to  work  inclined, 

Have  in  their  heads  "a  heap  o'  fight !  " 
This  key-note's  for  the  Continent : 

The  proud  Centennial  State  proclaims 
With  clarion  voice  and  clear  intent, 

In  each  of  the  Almighty's  names, 
That  savage  men  must  civilize, 

Or  meet  the  fate  their  murders'  due, 
For  'tis  decreed  that  people  dies 

That  will  not  be  both  wise  and  true. 
The  written  axiom  is  real 

That  "men  shall  work  or  shall  not  eat," 
For  passions  make  their  worst  appeal 

To  those  that  would  this  law  defeat ; 
And  for  our  Government  to  give 

Its  substance  up  to  savage  men, 
That  they  in  laziness  may  live, 

But  makes  them  worse  than  would  have  been. 
As  in  the  late  slave-holders'  war 

Free  labor  and  free  schools  did  face 


THE   FATE   OF   THE   MEEKER    FAMILY.  257 

The  folly  they  were  fighting  for, 

Till  Lincoln  freed  the  laboring  race  ; 
The  Nation's  key-note  soundeth  now 

The  issue  clear,  both  far  and  near, 
White,  red  and  black  must  read  and  plow, 

Or  race  and  place  must  disappear  ! 

(AND  THIS  is  PHILANTHROPIC). 
For  let  us  see  ;  philanthropy 

Is  love  for  all  mankind  as  one  ! 
It  longs  to  bless  with  liberty 

Bach  oppressed  race  beneath  the  sun. 
It  ne'er  the  greater  to  the  less — 

The  good  to  ill — doth  sacrifice, 
Except  thereby  to  overbless 

With  good  from  evil  in  disguise. 
The  just  for  the  unjust  still  die — 

(So  Jesus  died  for  justice's  sake) — 
That  all  who  hear  their  dying  cry 

May  of  their  precious  mind  partake. 
The  cruel  in  their  acts  of  crime, 

Indeed,  may  "  know  not  what  they  do," 
But  in  the  turning  leaves  of  time 

They  so  unvail  and  bring  to  view 
The  evil  deeds  that  vice  .hath  done, 

That  other  lives  look  on  aghast ; 
And  so  to  wiser  service  won 

They  live  philanthropists  at  last. 
These  with  a  zeal  like  Zinziba's, 

Or  Konkaput,  the  kingly  Ute, 
Or  Borgia's  benignant  cause 

Or  Susan's  daring  in  dispute, 
Would  give  their  lives,  in  peace  or  wars, 

To  show  what  time  shall  ne'er  refute 
That  justice  mends  what  malice  mars 

Through  Mercy,  God's  dear  attribute  ! 


H  A  S  K  E  L  L'  S 


OCCASIONAL  POEMS. 


FOREIGN,   PATRIOTIC,  JUVENILE, 
DOMESTIC. 


Contents  of  Occasional  Poems. 


L__  FOREIGN. 

PAGE 

From  Joppa  to  Jerusalem— By  Night 5. 

Uncle  Sam  to  Albert  Edward 8 

The  Ascension  Scene n 

The  God  of  Nature  and  of  Nations 13. 

Balaam's  Song  on  Pisgah's  Summit 16 

Moses' Song  on  the  Same  Mountain 17 

Observations  at  Moses' Birth  Place 19. 

Jeroboam  and  Ano  in  Affliction 24 

There  's  Mourning  in  Tirza  To-Day 25 

The  Seventy  Heads  of  Ahab's  Sons 27 

Alone  With  God  Where  Two  Ways  Meet 28 

Esther  the  Queen,  and  the  Three  Wise  Men 30 

Kepler's  Notion  of  Their  New  Star 31 

The  Mission  of  the  Magi 33 

Thou  Son  of  David,  Have  Mercy  on  Us 34 

Thoughts  at  Machpela  —  Earth's  Oldest  Grave 36 

Ignatius'  Martyrdom — Of  Antioch 38 

The  Martyrdom  of  Polycarp — Smyrna 39 

The  Martyrdom  of  a  Poor  Blind  Maiden 43 

Meditations  on  Mars'  Hill    .   .   •   • 44 

Farewell  Ferenzie  —  Florence 45 

On  Top  of  Mount  Rhigi  the  Fourth  of  July 46 

Grutli  Green  and  the  Three  Swiss  Oaths 48 

I  Am  Happy — Home 's  in  Sight 49 

II.  —  PATRIOTIC. 

Death  of  Doctor  E.  D.  McMasters 53 

On  Death  of  Longfellow  — Not  Dead '.....  55 

These  Echoes  of  the  Ages 56 

A  Seer-Like  Song  of  "  Fifty-Six  " 58 

The  Horrors  of  the  Slaveholders 61 

Volunteer  !    The  Country's  Second  Call  to  Arms 62 

Girded  on  His  Field  of  Battle 64 


ii.  CONTENTS  OF  OCCASIONAL   POEMS. 

PAGE 

Toll  the  Knells  !    Sound  the  Bells 66 

Death  of  Lincoln  —  Oath  of  Johnson     .   :    .    . 67 

Funeral  Ode  for  Lincoln's  Obsequies 108 

Garfield's  Last  Ride  —  To  Long  Branch 69 

The  Wake  of  war  —  A  Retrospect 73 

The  Dying  Eagle  —  Our  National  Enigma 75 

Centennial  Bells  of  'Seventy-Six 77 

'Did  Ye  Not  Hear  Them?  — Those  Century  Bells 79 

Centennial  Song  —  Impromptu  No.  i 81 

Centennial  Thanksgiving,  No.  2 82 

Centennial  State,  No.  3 83 

Centennial  Thanksgiving,  (Nov.  30),  No.  4 84 

Colorado's  Key  Note  for  the  Continent 85 

The  Thirty-Eighth  Star,  the  Flag  and  Ship  of  State       ...  87 

"Washington's  Birth  and  Benediction 92 

His  Inaugural  and  its  Centennial 94 

Inaugural  Hymns — No.  i,  Jubilate 95 

Convened,  Great  God,  at  Thy  Command  —  No.  2,  9  A.  M.    .    .  97 

•O  God  of  Endless  Years  and  Might  —  No.  3,  12  M 98 

God  of  Ages  and  of  Nations  —  No.  4,  12  M 99 

•"  We  Have  Been  Divinely  Led  "  —  No.  5,  Night  Service  .   .    .  TOO 

Washington's  Monument .   .  102 

Samoan  Shipwrecks  —  " God  Reigns" 103 

4 'God  Reigns  and  the  Government  Lives"  —  Garfi eld  .   ...  107 

The  Author's  Hymn  in  Italics  on  Garfield's  Death 108 


III.— JUVENILE. 


School  Boy's  Sigh  for  Out-Door  Scenes 109 

My  Birdie  and  I .  no 

Boy's  November  Visit  to  the  New  Moon 113 

A  Log  School  House  and  its  Spelling  School 118 

The  Self-Made  Man  —  School  Song  No.  i 122 

Treat  Kindly  Your  School  Mates  —  School  Song  No.  2      .   .    .  124 

The  Student's  Toil  —  School  Song  No.  3 125 

•Onward  and  Upward  —  School  Song  No.  4 1^6 

Good  Bye  — School  Song  No.  5 127 

Woman's  Rights  as  Queen  Regent  of  Earth 128 

Those  Good  Fashioned  Garments  Our  Grandmothers  Wore  .  129 

Old  Boxford — "Newspapers  Will  Lie  (?)  " 131 

Rumseller  to  His  Ruined  Sot 132 

Reformed  Sot's  Reply  to  Rumseller 134 

Frosted  Tobacco  — Affliction's  Blessings  in  Disguise 135 

The  Convict  —  His  Calamities  and  Cures 139 

(For  Contents  of '"  Domestic,"  See  End  of  Book  ) 


A.    HOWADJI, 

Soon  to  sail, 
Reads  his  routes  that  not  one  fail. 


ME   RECEPTET  SIGN  IUvA. 

Me  receptet  Sion  ilia, 
Sion,  David  urbs  trauquilla, 
Cujus  faber,  auctor  lucis  ; 
Cujus  signum,  lignum  crucis  ; 
Cujus  claves,  lingua  Petri ; 
Cujus  cives,  semper  laeti ; 
Cujus  muri,  lapis  vivus  ; 
Cujus  custos,  Rex  festivus. 

In  hac  urbe,  lux  solennis, 
Ver  ae tern um,  pax  perennis  ; 
In  hac,  odor  implens  ccelos, 
In  hac,  semper  festum  melos. 
Non  est  ibi  corruptela, 
Non  defectus,  non  querela, 
Non  miuuti,  non  deformes, 
Omnes  Christo  sunt  couformes. 

Urbs  coslestis,  urbs  beata, 
Super  petram  collocata, 
Urbs  in  partu  satis  tuto, 
De  longinquo  te  saluto  ! 
Te  saluto,  te  suspiro, 
Te  affecto,  te  require  ! 
Quantum  tui  gratulantur — 
Quatn  festive  convivantur — 
Ouis  affectus  eos  stringat — 
Aut  quc£  gemma  meros  pingat  !- 
Ouis  chalcedon,  quis  jacinthus- 
Norunt  illi  qui  sunt  iutus. 
In  plateis  hujus  urbis, 
Sociatus  piis  turbis, 
Cum  Moyse  et  Elia, 
Pnesto  cantem  Alleluia  ! 


FOREIGN. 


FROM   JOPPA  TO   JERUSALEM — BY   NIGHT. 

This  is  an  hour  of  rare  emprise, 

For  which  I've  wandered  far  from  home, 
To  reach  this  "  Land  of  Sacrifice," 
Where  deep,  dlvinest  memories  rise. 
Beneath  the  Palestinian  skies, 

Beneath  King  David's  star  lit  dome — 
For  this,  for  this  I  roam  ! 

The  tall  old  Heaven  stoops  down  to  tell 
What  thrilling  scenes  of  old  she  saw  ; 

The  heart  of  Heaven  seems  now  to  swell 

As  she  recalls  those  empires  well 

Which  rose  and  ruled,  misruled  and  fell, 
Beneath  the  sovereignty  of  law  ; 
Dear  Heaven,  do  nearer  draw  I 

The  evening  stars  glide  silently 

Down  the  gilt  edges  of  the  west  ; 

The  crescent  moon,  that  used  to  be 

Chief  keeper  of  Chronology, 

Is  moving  toward  the  "  Midland  Sea," 

So  tired  and  pale  in  night  robes  dressed — 
Dear  Moon,  lie  down  and  rest ! 

Step  on  ye  ancient  evening  stars 

Toward  the  farthest  Occident ; 
Go,  meet  my  kin,  kind  Venus,  Mars, 
Where  now  ascend  the  Solar  bars 
Of  morn,  and  Phoebus  mounts  his  cars 

To  hunt  his  moving  midnight  tent — 
Go,  tell  my  kin  you're  sent ! 


HASKEXVS   POEMS  —  ABROAD. 

But  tell  me,  ere  ye  both  retire, 

About  the  "Wise  Men  in  the  East," 

Where  Parsees  purged  their  sons  with  fire 

And  Ashtaroth  attended  Tyre, 

And  ancient  Jews  waked  fresh  desire 

At  "the  New  Moon"  or  "trumpet  feast" — 
Their  crescent  ruled  their  priest ! 

The  same  old  canopy  it  is, 

By  ancient  shepherds  nightly  seen  ; 
And  old  Philistia,  too,  is  this, 
Where  Samson  his  shorn  locks  did  miss  ; 
Yea,  I  am  in  that  land  of  bliss 

That  stood  once  "dressed  in  living  green, 
While  Jordan  rolled  between  !  " 

The  lingering  sun,  so  lately  set, 

That  age  on  age  hath  viewed  this  land, 

Those  planets  in  horizon  yet, 

And  the  fixed  stars  can  not  forget 

The  places  where  Judge  Joshua  met 

Philistia's  hosts  at  Heaven's  command, 
Where  holy  mountains  stand  ! 

And  as  we  pass  the  Lyddan  plains 

And  urge  our  way  toward  Zion's  Hill, 

Where  "the  False  Prophet's"  pasha  reigns, 

Inflicting  penalties  and  pains 

At  will — I'm  glad  El  Kuds  remains 

And  Mount  Moriah  staudeth  still — 
I'll  see  them,  if  God  will ! 

We've  passed  the  old  Phoenician  trails — 

Beth-Dagau,  Lud  and  Ajelon — 
(Along  whose  slopes  and  sleeping  vales 
The  jackalls  greet  me  with  their  wails, 
Whose  sires  with  fire-brands  at  their  tails 
Did  Samson's  will) — and  Gibeon, 
Where  Heshea  held  the  Sun. 


FROM   JOPPA   TO   JERUSALEM. 

Bold  scenes,  almost  beyond  belief, 

Attend  my  way  on  either  hand  ; 
Here  Timnath  sighs  maternal  grief 
O'er  Sissera,  Jael's  smitten  Chief; 
Here  also  lived  "the  dying  thief;  " 

Here  angels  smote  the  Assyrian  band, 

To  free  the  Holy  Land  ! 
Here  Abra'am  pitched  his  ancient  tent ; 

Here  Joseph  bore  his  brothers'  wrongs  ; 
Here  Canaan  into  darkness  went ; 
Here  Israel's  life  and  banishment 
Brought  out  the  ages'  chief  event, 

Foretold  by  seers  in  signs  and  songs — 

This  land  to  Christ  belongs  ! 
Here,  wrapt  in  chilling  midnight  air, 

His  locks  all  wet  with  silent  dew, 
He  spent  whole  nights  in  holy  prayer 
For  those  whose  sins  He  chose  to  bear, 
All  races  His  redeeming  care, 

All  ages  in  His  earnest  view — 

All  lands  He  also  knew  ! 
Here  at  Umwas*  appear  to  me 

Thou  Apparition,  all  divine  ! 
As  when  the  twain  Thyself  did  see, 
As  when  Thou  wast  in  Galilee, 
And  walkedst  on  the  willing  sea, 

Make  now  Thy  face  on  me  to  shine, 

O  Savior,  so  benign  ! 
As  now  I  ride  in  hours  so  chill, 

The  star-lit  night,  both  long  and  lone, 
The  way  side  oaks  unstirred  and  still, 
A  something  holy  seems  to  fill 
My  soul  with  such  a  heavenly  thrill 

That  I  must  now  Thy  presence  own  ; 

I'm  lonely,  not  alone. 
*  Modern  form  of  Emniais.  34 


HASKELL/S    POEMS  — ABROAD. 

O  that  Thou  wert  thus  ever  nigh, 

O  beaming  "Star  of  Bethlehem, '' 

O  blessed  "  Day-Star"  from  on  high  ; 

O  "  Morning  Star,"  rise  in  the  sky  ; 

O  native  East  now  bring  me  nigh 
Thine  ancient  gem,  Jerusalem  ! 
See,  Jeru — peace,  Salem  \ 

O  peaceful  dawn  lift  up  night's  dome, 

And  let  thy  beams  on  Zion  be  ; 
For  lo  !  I  am  in  safety  come 
In  sight  of  that  for  which  I  roam, 
"Jerusalem  my  happy  home," 

With  joy  thy  towering  walls  I  see  ! 
With  peace  I  come  to  thee  ! 


THE   BENEDICTION  OF   THE   UNITED   STATES   ON   ALBERT 
EDWARD  AS   ENGLAND'S   COMING   KING. 

Four  pale  howadjis  from  the  West, 

From  fair  Columbia's  far  off  land, 
In  simple  costume  coolly  dressed, 

A  friendly,  patriot,  praying  band — 
Met  to  commingle  hopes  and  prayers 

That  peace  and  union  yet  may  crown 
Their  Father-Land,  still  fondly  theirs, 

And  give  it  still  a  just  renown — 
Met  in  Judea's  noted  glen, 

Beneath  the  shade  of  "Zion's  Hill," 
Where  kings  and  prophets  long  had  been, 

Whose  ancient  lives  seemed  living  still ; 
There,  standing  near  Siloa's  fount, 

Whose  healing  waters  gently  flow 
From  rocks  beneath  the  Holy  Mount 

To  "princely  gardens"  waste  below; 
And  marking  well  each  legend  spot 

In  Cedron's  vale,  .on  Olive's  hill 


JOHNNY  BUI.lv  AND  BROTHER  JONATHAN. 

So  changed  by  Time,  that  ceaseth  not 

To  execute  the  sovereign  will ; 
And  counting  up  those  ages  past, 

Whose  tramp  with  all  the  pomp  of  kings 
Seemed  cursed  and  blest  by  seer  and  priest, 

And  hurried  on  by  mighty  wings 
Till  Solomon,  whose  peaceful  reign 

Bespoke  a  coming  Prince  of  Peace, 
Seemed  risen  to  his  throne  again, 

And  at  that  hour  to  seek  release 
From  day-long  duties  At  his  court 

By  hasting  to  his  gardens  rare 
With  prancing  steeds  and  proud  escort, 

With  youthful  mien  and  features  fair  : 
Just  then — those  pilgrims  from  the  West 

Descried  a  real  pageant  glide 
Along  Mt.  Olive's  hallowed  crest, 

Adown  its  consecrated  side, 
Around  Gethsemane  it  passed, 

By  "Absolom's  Tomb  "  it  slowly  came 
And  reached  old  Joab's  well  at  last ; 

Then  turning  up  the  vale  again, 
Again  it  passed  that  patriot  band, 

And  he  who  rode  the  honored  steed 
Seemed  born  with  sceptre  in  his  hand, 

And  each  howadji's  heart  to  read. 
With  brow  uncovered  to  the  sun 

He  bowed  his  head  as  to  be  blessed 
By  many  million  prayers  in  one, 

That  Heavenly  grace  might  on  him  rest. 

One  pale  howadji  stood  before, 

(Would  humbly  of  this  service  sing,) 
Poured  on  his  head  the  oil  of  yore, 

And  in  God's  name  announced  him  King- 
Young  King  of  England,  royal  heir, 
With  empire  of  past  ages  made, 


10  HASKElvL'S   POEMS— ABROAD. 

With  honors  none  unblessed  can  bear, 

May  God  of  Hosts  give  thee  His  aid  ; 
Regard  thy  reign  and  realm  with  care  ; 

Tell  thee,  be  strong  to  do  God's  will ; 
Be  worthy  of  thy  time,  thy  birth, 

And  so  in  His  own  strength  fulfill 
Thy  rank  'moug  rulers  of  the  earth. 

I  bid  thee,  in  my  country's  name, 
With  many  million  patriot  tongues  : 

Add  lustre  to  fair  England's  fame  ! 
Preserve  her  rights,  prevent  her  wrongs  ; 

As  Solomon,  reign  thou  in  peace  ; 
A  Christian,  in  Christ's  spirit  reign, 

So  shalt  thou  in  thy  realm  increase — 
In  Heavenly  worlds  be  crowned  again  ! 

And  as  these  patriots  from  the  West 

Breathe  here  their  Occidental  prayer, 
That  e'en  the  Orient  may  be  blessed, 

And  Freedom  nourish  everywhere, 
May  Briton  to  herself  be  true  ; 

To  Freedom's  cause  in  every  land  ; 
Award  Columbia  what  is  due  ; 

In  mutual  aid  and  honor  stand, 
Till  treason  and  oppression  cease  ; 

Till  loyal  liberty  prevail  ; 
Till  commerce  on  the  wings  of  peace 

O'er  every  sea  in  safety  sail  ; 
Till  kings  and  parliaments  unite 

To  execute  the  perfect  will 
Of  Him  who  must  defend  the  right, 

Who  is  Columbia's  Guardian  still ! 
JERUSALEM,  April  5,  A.  D.  1862. 


SUNDAY  EVE   ON  OIVIVET.  11 

THE  ASCENSION  SCENE. 

A  silvered  silence  in  the  sky, 

Extending  far  o'er  hills  and  dells, 
Now  bends  her  ear  for  some  reply 

Like  soft  vibrations  from  the  bells 
That  throb  their  vespers  up  on  high 

When  earth  to  heaven  their  echo  tells, 
And  angel  bands  are  drawing  nigh 

Whose  every  heart  with  rapture  swells. 

The  bustling  world  sterns  breathless  now, 

The  day  and  night  are  softly  met, 
Where  evening  weaves  above  her  brow 

The  sun  and  moon  o'er  Olivet, 
The  tall,  white-vested  mountain  top, 

Like  damsels  trembling  in  the  dark, 
Seems  moving,  yet  resolved  to  stop 

And  in  the  evening  twilight  hark, 
As  if  the  angel  bands  might  drop 

To  earth  some  soft  and  sage  remark, 
Or  Israel's  thrones  again  were  set, 

And  Cherubim  stood  o'er  the  ark ! 
The  day  and  night  are  mingled  yet, 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  met  in  peace  ; 
The  past  and  future  too  are  met 

In  silence  o'er  the  day's  decease, 
And  all  is  still  on  Olivet 

As  when  some  soul  hath  gained  release  ! 

As  here  we  stand  on  Olive's  height, 

And  all  baptized  in  evening  dew, 
The  old  Dead  Sea  reflects  her  light 

Christ's  first  Creation  doubtless  knew, 
And  the.  pale  moon  on  Pisgah's  crest 

Lifts  up  the  banner  of  her  power, 
While  the  soft  twilight  in  the  West 

Sinks  down  in  silence  with  the  hour ; 


12  HASKEU/S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

And  in  the  Bast  and  in  the  West, 

Toward  the  South  and  toward  the  North, 
Night's  wings,  like  seraphs,  flit  and  rest, 

O'er  the  most  sacred  scenes  of  earth, 
And  half  the  Holy  Land's  in  view, 

And  in  a  robe  of  silver  dressed, 
While  all  the  world,  both  old  and  new, 

Seems  wanting,  waiting  to  be  blessed  ; 
A  most  precious  moment  this, 

Foretaste  of  immortal  bliss ! 

O,  survey  the  sacred  scene, 

Where  the  broad  horizon  lies, 
And  recount  what  comes  between 

In  our  Master's  ministries — 
Hark  !    O  hear  God's  chariot  wheels, 

As  if  rustling  angels'  wings  ! 
See  the  glory  that  reveals 

Now  the  ascending  King  of  Kings  ; 
For  He's  going  to  receive 

Gifts  for  all  the  sons  of  men  ; 
Blessings  more  than  earth  can  give, 

More  than  ever  yet  have  been — 
And  Elijah's  fiery  steeds 

Far  less  grandly  did  perform 
Than  our  Lord's  ascension  deeds, 

Who  raised  the  dead  and  ruled  the  storm, 
While  Heaven  brings  her  highest  meeds 

And  gives  him  welcomes  loud  and  warm  ! 
APRIL  6.  1862. 


A   MATIN  SONG   AT  OLD   MARSABA.  13 

• 

THE  GOD  OF  NATURE  AND  OF  NATIONS. 

[Marsaba  is  near  the  Dead  Sea  on  the  northwest,  and  is  1900 
feet  above  it  and  587  feet  above  the  Mediterranean.  It  is  in  the 
midst  of  some  of  the  wildest  scenery  in  the  world,  and  is  named 
after  Saint  Sabas,  who  was  born  A.  D.  439,  and  lived  here  "in 
the  mountains  and  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth."  The  evenings, 
mornings  and  nights  here  are  peculiarly  clear  and  impressive  to 
those  practiced  in  astronomy  or  prayer.] 

I. 

An  evening  ride  of  scarce  three  hours  long 
Conveyed  us  from  the  Holy  City's  throng 
Far  down  the  empty,  cliffy  Cedron  dell 
To  where  San  Saba's  anchorites  still  dwell 
In  monkish  solitude,  so  well  fenced  in 
Their  convent  seems  like  some  stronghold  of  sin. 
In  tent  life,  near,  was  my  first  night's  repose, 
So  sweet,  to  sing  with  morning  stars  I  rose, 
And  nothing  earthly  could  surpass  this  hour 
Where  God  in  nature  so  reveals  his  power! 

n. 

Night's  mantle  with  its  load  of  gems  withdrawn, 
The  distant  Bast  puts  on  her  glowing  dawn, 
O'er  heights  of  Nebo,  now,  the  eye  of  day 
Lifts  up  its  lashes,  each  a  golden  ray, 
And  bends  them  o'er  this  silent,  sleeping  glen, 
Where  God  of  old  hath  walked  and  talked  with 

men  ; 

The  early  twilight's  paling  upward  now, 
Before  the  advancing  morn,  and  here  I  bow, 
In  presence  of  my  Maker's  princely  Son, 
And  earth  and  heaven  seem  blending  into  one. 

in. 

I  look  at  Nature,  Lord,  then  look  at  Thee  ! 
For  in  the  silent  depths  of  night  I  see 

The  dwelling  place  where  Thou  dost  hide  Thy 

powers, 

These  calm,   clear,    sparkling  and   advancing 
hours, 


14          HASKEXL'S  POEMS  — ABROAD. 

Like  living  beings  moving  round  Thy  throne, 
"With  eyes  before,  behind,"  in  solemn  tone, 
Cry  "  Holy  !  Holy  !  Holy  !  Lord,  our  God, 
Almighty,  live  forever!  "     Earth  doth  nod 
Assent,  and  on  her  way,  unwavering  still, 
Revolves  upon  the  unseen  axis  of  Thy  will ! 

IV. 

I  look  at  Nature,  Lord,  and  look  at  Thee  ; 
For  in  the  night's  departure  there  must  be 
Full  many  symbols  of  Thy  ways  with  men  ; 
'Tis  good  to  wake  the  heart  and  watch  Thee 

then! 

The  world  still  silent ;  light  and  darkness  meet, 
And  mix  their  splendors  round  Thy  burnished  feet; 
The  stars  fade  out  of  sight  as  they  arise, 
The  day  pursues  the  night  in  glad  surprise, 
And  Nature  tints  her  veil  to  let  men  gaze 
On  Thy  bright  glory  through  this  morning  haze ! 

V. 

I  look  at  Nature  still,  O  Lord,  and  then  at  Thee, 
In  every  season,  climate,  land  and  sea  ! 

As  winter  teams  his  tons  of  suowflakes  down, 
Thou,  God,  dost  give  the  ground  that  clean, 

white  gown  ; 
When  spring  comes  laughing  through  the  southern 

air, 

Then  birds  and  blossoms  bless  Thee  everywhere  ; 
As  summer  her  first  fruitage  here  bestows 
Thou,  God,  art  mitigating  human  woes  ; 
Thou  bindest  autumn's  latest  withered  sheaf 
To  teach  :  "  We  too  are  fading  as  a  leaf ! " 

VI. 

I  look  at  Nations,  Lord  !  and  look  at  Thee  ; 
For  Nations  are  but  Nature's  sentient  tree  ; 

Of  Thy  creation  and  incessant  care  ; 

All  Nations  Thy  dependent  subjects  are. 


BALAAM'S  SONG   ON   PISGAH'S  SUMMIT.  15 

Arid  here  where  Godfrey  and  the  Baldwins 
reigned ; 

Here  where  young  David  in  strongholds  remained  ; 
Where  Abram,  earlier,  watched  the  overthrow 
Of  Sodom  in  her  wantonness  and  woe, 

Let  any  look  at  Heaven  and  history  here, 

And  "Who  would  not  Thee,  God  of  nations,  fear!" 

VII. 

So  looking  at  Thy  works,  I  look  at  Thee  ! 
Thou  art  not  Nature,  nor  yet  History  ; 

But  thou  art  God,  and  Nature  is  thy  gift ; 

And  all  her  nations,  also,  seem  to  lift 
My  longings  up  through  time  and  space, 
Until  I  greet  Thy  throne  of  Heavenly  grace, 

Which  Thou,  in  mercy,  movest  everywhere 

There's  a  confiding  penitent  for  prayer  ; 
Thus  rising  through  Thy  works,  I  joy  to  call 
Thee  Lord  of  Nature,  Nations,  and  of  all ! 

VIII. 

I  look  at  Nature,  History  and  Thee, 
Till  in  th'  old  orb  of  day,  thy  Deity 

Doth  shine  too  bright  for  eyes  of  men  below ; 
Thy  voice  I  hear  proclaim,  as  long  ago, 
"The    Lord!      Lord    God!      Most    merciful    and 

gracious  ; 

Long  suffering  and  of  tender  mercy  toward  us  ; 
Forgiving  our  iniquity  and  sin  !" 
And  pardoned,  penitent,  I  here  begin 
To  feel  so  like  Thyself  in  sacred  things, 
That  I  would  soar  to  Thee  on  worship's  wings ! 
APRIL  10,  1862. 


16  HASKEL.VS   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

A  .SONG  IN  SIGHT  OF  PISGAH'S   PROSPECT   MOUNTAIN. 

BALAAM,   THE   SEER    OF    MIDIAN,    BLESSING   ISRAEL   AND 
PREDICTING   THE   MESSIAH. 

To  Pisgah's  prospect  mountains, 

From  Midian's  wide  domain, 
Where  fair  Euphrates'  fountains 

Enrich  the  Aram  plain, 
Came  Balaam,  brave  as  Joab, 

A  King  of  Jethro's  kin, 
To  meet  the  King  of  Moab, 

And  tell  which  side  shall  win. 

For  with  great  pomp,  his  princes,  King  Balak  sent 

to  bring 

This  oracle  of  Pethor — himself  a  very  King — 
And  took   the  prince   and  prophet  to    Pisgah's 

highest  peak 
And  bade  him  thence  see  Isreal  and  curses  on 

him  speak. 
This  was  the  pungent  issue,  thus  put  before  the 

Prince, 
To  curse  God's  ancient  people,  that  he  might  so 

evince 

Help  for  unholy  heathen,  sous  of  unhappy  Lot — 
By  incest  and  intemperance — W7ho  had  his  God 

forgot. 
So  on  the  top  of  Pisgah,  where  Moses  stood  and 

died, 
King  Balaam   said  with   courage,    somewhat   of 

moral  pride  : 

•"  I  must  obey  Jehovah,  for  better  or  for  worse  ; 
On  whom  He  speaks  a  blessing  I  cannot  speak  a 

curse. 
If  Balak's  house  were  silver  and  full  of  beaten 

gold, 
I  could  not  once  accept  it  to  tell  what  I'm  not 

told 


ANOTHER   SONG   IN  SIGHT   OF   PISGAH.  17 

From  God,  the  Lord  Jehovah  ;  He  Israel  hath  led 
In  safety  out  of  Egypt.     Then  hear  what  God 
hath  said  : 

From  the  highest  peaks  of  Pisgah  and  o'er  the 

distant  hills 
I  see  fair  tents  of  Jacob,  whose  rising  star  now 

fills 
My  future,   far  horizon  ;    and  he  shall  have  full 

sway 

To  smite  Moab's  four  corners  ;  take  Amalek  away 
And  reign  a  prince  forever.     Ah  !  who  of  us  shall 

live 
When  God,  the  Lord,  shall  do  this!     Oh,  God! 

my  sins  forgive, 
And  let  me  die  like  Moses,  my  last  end  be  like 

his; 

And  so  at  length  be  gathered  where  God's  own 
chosen  is." 


ANOTHER   SONG  IN  SIGHT  OF  PISGAH. 
THE  LAST  DAY  OF  MOSES. 

"And  Moses  spoke  in  the  ears  of  all  Isreal  the  words  of  this 
song." 

"Give  ear,  O  Heavens,  and  I  will  speak, 

And  hear,  O  Earth,  my  parting  word  ; 
O  Israel,  be  wise  to  seek 

Life's  peaceful  end  in  God,  the  Lord  ; 
For  as  an  eagle  stirs  her  nest 

And  bears  her  young  upon  her  wings, 
So  hath  the  Lord  both  helped  and  blessed 

Thee,  whom  to  Canaan  thus  He  brings  ; 
He  is  our  Rock  and  He  our  Rest !" 

So  Moses  sang  :  majestic  Saint  and  Seer  ! 

Who  often  talked  with   God  as  friend  with 
friend ; 


18  HASKELL'S  POEMS— ABROAD. 

And  faced  all  dangers  without  dread  or  fear  ; 

And  now,  with  eye  undimmed,  and  at  the  end 
Of  six  score  years,  he  says  :  "My  time  has  come  J 

God  calls  me  up  yon  Mount  Abarim's  height 
To  look  o'er  Jordan  and  be  welcomed  home  ; 

To-day  I  pass  away  from  mortal  sight, 

And  own  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  is  right ! 

Ye  know  my  selfish  sin  that  sultry  hour, 

When  I  would  smite  with  my  own  wear}-  hand 

The  rock,  regardless  of  God's  gracious  power  ; 
So  I  must  pass  to  see  the  '  promised  land,' 

The  vision  only  is  unto  me  given  ; 

To  guide  you  there  Hoshea  hath  been  blessed  ; 

My  brother  Aaron  passed  from  Hor  to  Heaven  ; 
He  had,  like  me,  his  haughty  sin  confessed, 
And  now,  like  him,  will  I  ascend  to  rest !" 

So  saying,  while  the  rocks  and  mountains  rang 
With  his  beatitudes  of  prayer  and  love, 

And  blended  Psalm  the  blest  Hoshea  sang, 
He  took  his  lonely  way  and  went  above 
Abarim's  sides  and  Nebo's  brow,  till  clear 

And  high  and  basking  in  the  sight, 

He  stood  on  Pisgah's  peak  without  a  fear, 

And  winged  his  life  away  to  worlds  of  light, 
While  Israel  waited,  watching  on  the  plain, 
And  wept.   "We  ne'er  shall  see  his  like  again  !" 


OBSERVATIONS  IN  EGYPT.  19 

OBSERVATIONS  IN  EGYPT, 

AND   THE  SCENES  OF   MOSES'    BIRTH   PLACE. 

(Written  in  Private  Journal,  March,  1862). 

I  wish,  without  poetic  restraint,  to  take  my  readers 
with  me  now,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  my  excursions  in 
Egypt,  and  amid  the  scenes  of  Moses'  infancy  and 
most  famous  miracles. 

Let  us  imagine  ourselves  in  Cairo,  the  present 
Egyptian  capital,  and  ascend  the  Acropolis  to  the 
walls  of  the  citadel,  a  place  of  great  historic  interest 
on  account  of  the  murder  of  the  Mameluke  chieftains 
there  by  Mahomet  Ali.  From  this  citadel  the  traveler 
beholds  one  of  the  most  productive  and  beautiful 
landscapes  in  the  world.  Besides  the  costly  species 
of  ancient  oriental  architecture  near  you  and  in  the 
distance,  you  have  vegetable  nature  spread  out  in 
broad  acres  to  the  very  edge  of  the  horizon  in  several 
directions.  Far  to  the  south  of  you  rises  a  majestic 
date  orchard  over  the  ruins  of  Memphis— the  Noph 
and  National  Capital  in  the  boyhood  of  Moses.  This 
graceful  and  truly  grand  palm  forest  intercepts  the 
eye  that  would  penetrate  farther  up  to  the  ruins  of 
Thebes,  the  far-off  Dongola  and  the  mysterious  sources 
of  the  Nile  in  the  now  well-known  Nazianzen.  South- 
west of  us  are  those  ancient  piles,  the  Pyramids, 
brought  by  the  clear  sky  and  intense  sunlight  so  near 
that  we  are  greatly  surprised  by  their  apparent  diniinu- 
tiveness.  And  there,  too,  is  that  "Notable  Nile"  only 
three  miles  to  the  westward.  On  its  bosom  lies  that 
beautiful  gem,  the  Island  of  Rhoda,  which  in  its  deep 
blue  verdure  seems  a  genuine  lapis  lazuli  encircled 
with  yellow  waters  like  a  setting  of  tremulous  wave- 
lets of  gold.  Following  the  course  of  the  river  north- 
ward we  have  all  Lower  Egypt,  like  a  vast  emerald 
locket  lying  on  the  bosom  of  the  horizon,  set  in  the 
golden  sands  of  two  seashores,  the  Isthmus,  the  great 


20  OBSERVATIONS   IN  EGYPT. 

Sahara  and  embossed  with  Mukatom  Mountains,  on 
one  spur  of  which  is  our  standpoint.  Tracing  upon 
this  scene  the  course  of  the  canal  we  see  shady  ave- 
nues, neatly  hung  with  boughs  of  sycamore,  with 
towering  acacias,  and  corn  fields  basking  in  the 
noontide  sun,  without  a  leaf  curled  or  a  spot  barren. 
The  serpentine  course  of  the  water,  lifted  by  the 
patient  buffalo  at  the  tread-mills,  suggests  at  once 
the  source  of  this  wonderful  verdure  and  expanse  of 
promise  and  beauty,  the  Nile,  and  this  supernatural 
work  of  irrigation  ! 

L,et  us  pass  now  down  to  that  stream  where  the 
damsels  of  Pharaoh's  daughter  were  dancing  when 
moved  by  the  cry  of  distress  from  the  floating  cradle 
of  the  infantile  Moses,  and  give  vent  to  our  emotions 
as  we  rest  on  the  bosom  of  that  mysterious  mother  of 
the  wealth  of  all  Egypt,  both  ancient  and  modern. 
And  here  we  are  now  on  the  bosom  of  that  marvelous 
river.  It  is  the  cool  of  the  day  in  Egypt.  The  air  is 
most  charming  and  clearer  than  crystal.  The  waters 
are  unusually  placid.  The  current  beneath  us  is 
vigorous  but  even.  The  banks  are  low,  level  and 
fertile,  covered  with  the  rich  compost  of  sand  and 
slime  so  essential  to  Egypt.  Everything  visible  is 
suggestive  of  the  value  of  this  noble  river  to  all  that 
region.  It  was  Herodotus  who  wrote  thousands  of 
years  ago  when  beholding  it,  "Egypt  is  the  gift  of 
the  Nile,"  and  veracious  as  he  was,  he  never  said  any- 
thing truer.  She  has  literally  made  and  rescued  that 
land  from  the  desert.  But  for  her,  the  great  Sahara 
would  soon  grasp  Arabia  by  way  of  Suez.  She  also 
gives  life  and  health  to  the  people.  She  seems  to  be 
"all  in  all"  to  them.  They  water  their  fields,  their 
flocks,  their  families  with  the  Nile.  They  wash  their 
bodies  in  the  Nile.  They  wet  their  bread  from  the 
Nile.  Their  fortune  and  much  of  their  faith  they 


OBSERVATIONS  IN  EGYPT.  21 

derive  from  the  Nile,  as  truly  as  they  do  their  fish. 
They  say:  "No  mortal  hath  searched  out  her 
sources."  The  Nubians  and  Abyssinians  can  only 
answer  :  "God  knoweth  it  rises  in  the  south."  Re- 
cent discoveries  only  can  tell  you  how  she  first  quaffs 
at  the  brim  of  the  lake  Nazianze  and  darts  away  like 
a  roe  over  the  vast  unexplored  regions  toward  you. 
After  receiving  the  last  tributary  she  flows  steadily 
northward  twelve  hundred  miles  to  the  sea,  fills  the 
many  divergent  canals  for  irrigation  of  the  country 
and,  under  a  tropical  sun,  pours  apparently  a  larger 
quantity  of  water  through  the  Rosetta  and  Dainietta 
mouths  at  the  Delta  than  rolls  between  the  banks  at 
the  cataract  five  hundred  miles  above — making  really 
one  of  the  greatest  wonders  of  the  world,  called  by 
Humboldt  "an  example  without  a  parallel!."  It  is 
no  small  thing  then  to  rest  as  we  do  now  on  the  bosom 
of  so  beautiful  a  creature  as  this  ever  venerable  and 
always  vigorous  Naaiad  of  the  Nile.  Not  long  since 
she  hung  in  white  mantels  of  snow  on  the  shoulders 
of  equatorial  mountains,  but  when  the  sun  laid  his 
golden  fleece  daily  on  their  summits  and  the  moon 
her  coronet  of  silver  by  night,  and  distant  skies  were 
conspiring  to  enthrone  her  successor,  she  quietly 
withdrew  in  rivulets  to  the  gorges,  gathered  swift 
reinforcements  from  sun-burnt  cliffs,  tumbling  ava- 
lanches and  syphonic  torrents  from  vast  lakes  over- 
filled by  the  falling  seasons,  and  then  -,\ith  a  leap 
and  a  bound  she  claps  her  two  hands  on  the  Nubian 
hillsides,  making  the  granite  ranges  of  Scyenne  to 
sing  with  her  voice  as  of  many  waters,  the  bright- 
eyed  gazelle  and  the  star-gazing  giraffe  to  dance  to 
her  music,  the  river  horses  to  neigh,  and  crocodile 
newly  adjust  his  scales  in  surprise,  as  they  are  dashed 
on  unseen  rocks  in  her  currents  ;  catches  in  her  lap 
the  loads  of  indigo,  ivory,  buffalo  skins  and  bond 


22  OBSERVATIONS   IN   EGYPT. 

slaves,  the  hurrying  commerce  of  the  interior ; 
dandles  upon  her  knee  many  a  "rais  of  the  rapids" 
tossing  his  sail  boat  in  the  hand  of  her  eddying  tem- 
pest; dashes  through  the  unrivaled  fastnesses  of  Nature 
at  Philae,  hanging  on  their  black  rocks  her  mists  and 
white  foam  changed  by  sunbeams  from  truce  to  a  tri 
colour  of  triumph  for  her  vanguard — and  dispensing  all 
possible  blessings  to  vegetables,  beasts  and  men  in  her 
route,  she  distances  all  the  remains  of  Ethiopian  and 
Abyssinian  antiquity;  forgets  to  pay  the  honors  due 
to  the  dust  of  the  hundred  gated  Thebes  and  the  ruins 
of  JCarnak,  Brebek,  I/ycopolis  and  Luxor,  and  here 
she  comes,  laden  with  life,  full  to  her  brim,  three 
thousand  feet  wide,  mysterious  in  her  origin,  majestic 
in  her  movements,  merciful  in  her  mission — marching 
steadily  on  in  her  own  beautiful  highway,  thrown  up 
by  the  very  dust  of  her  feet ;  and  from  her  rich 
panorama  of  well  planted  fields  and  wealthy  palm 
forests,  a  fertile  table-land  instead  of  feverish  valleys — 
she  looks  proudly  down  upon  the  sand  banks  of  Suez 
and  the  opposite  plains  of  Sahara,  and  presses  their 
very  winds  into  her  service  to  facilitate  her  commerce, 
to  deepen  her  channel  and  lift  her  annual  pathway 
into  still  higher  prominence,  publicity  and  power. 

When  in  the  longest  day  of  June  she  conies  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  marching  down  from  the  L,unar 
Mountains*  and  the  hills  of  Nubia,  and  with  repub- 
lican pride  weaves  into  her  robes  the  White  Nile,  the 
Blue  Nile,  and  the  Red  Tacadze,  she  lifts  from  her 
widening  trail,  like  the  opening  fan  of  the  peacock, 
the  flowers,  fragrance  and  fruits  of  three  successive 
harvests,  nor  withholds  her  munificent  gifts,  nor  re- 
duces her  wardrobe  till  the  last  of  September,  and 
then  like  a  sower  who  has  scattered  precious  seed 


*  The  reader  will  note  the  date  of  the  above  writing  and 
make  allowance  for  all  subsequent  discoveries. 


OBSERVATIONS   IN   EGYPT.  23 

bountifully  and  broadcast,  she  slowly  retires  with  her 
togam  from  the  field  to  her  bed  of  rest,  going  forth 
still  every  day  in  distributive  rivulets  among  the 
farmers  to  water  their  rising  corn  and  watch  the 
sacred  increase. 

Marvelous  benefactress  of  men  !  How  natural  for 
the  untutored  natives  to  revere  thy  munificence — to 
almost  worship  thy  mystery !  When  all  people  are 
prone  to  substitute  creatures  for  the  Creator  we  do  not 
call  the  ancient  mind  peculiarly  mad  for  adoring 
thee,  for  building  altars  to  thee  and  placing  thy  name 
in  the  scroll  of  the  gods  !  but  we  will  give  thee  diviner 
honor  by  ascribing  thyself  and  thy  mission  to  that 
Being  before  whom  the  Naiobe  of  nations  must  bow 
as  the  author  and  giver  of  all  benefactions ;  in  His 
name  we  now  bless  thee  and  think  fondly  of  His  favor 
in  our  own  native  land,  where  the  grandest  chains  of 
stern  mountains  on  earth  send  their  numerous  rivers 
of  pure  sparkling  snow  water  over  a  wider  waste,  ' '  The 
Great  American  Desert,"  and  invite  industry,  inven- 
tion and  art  to  utilize  the  same  till  our  deserts  shall 
bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose,  and  the  beholding  trav- 
elers from  afar  shall  rejoice  in  the  broader,  ever 
brightening  prospects  of  the  irrigated  acres  of  our 
once  arid  plains. 


^ 


24  HASKEUVS   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

A    REVISION   OF  TIRZAN   EVENTS. 
I. 

Here  Abijah,  the  son  of  Kin;?  Jeroboam,  fell  sick,  and  Jero- 
boam said  to  Queen  Ano,  his  Egyptian  wife  :  "Arise,  I  pray  thee, 
and  disguise  thyself  and  get  thee  to  Shiloh  ;  behold,  there  is 
Ahijah,  the  prophet,  which  told  me  that  I  should  be  King.  He 
shall  tell  thee  what  shall  become  of  the  child."  And  when  blind 
old  Ahijah  heard  the  sound  of  her  feet,  he  said  :  "  Come  in,  thou 
wife  of  Jeroboam,  I  am  sent  to  thee  with  sad  tidings.  Get  thee 
to  thine  own  house,  and  when  thy  feet  enter  into  the  city  thy 
child  shall  die."— I  Kings  xiv.:  1-14 

"Transgressors'  ways  are  truly  hard  !" 
The  semi-Pagan  King  and  Queen 
Are  called  to  pay  concealed  regard 
To  his  first  prophet's  holy  mien. 
They  both  forbode  their  fearful  loss 

Before  the  stroke  they  strangely  dread 
Hath  borne  their  beauteous  boy  across 
The  border  land  among  the  dead  ! 

Mark  what  emotion  moves  the  strong  man's  frame^ 

As  on  his  house  he  sees  Jehovah's  hand  ! 
He  wants  Ahijah's  help — without  his  name 

Made  known.     He  scarcely  dares  his  wife  com- 
mand ; 

Implores    her — though   a    Pagan— "Pray,    make 
haste  ; 

Find  Seer  Ahijah  ;  he  said  I'd  be  King  ; 
He  lives  at  Shiloh — is  God's  prophet ;  waste 

No  time,  but  from  him  speedy  tidings  bring ! 

Let  him  not  know  the  lad's  true  name,  nor  mine  ; 

Take  some  fresh  presents  from  a  prudent  man 
In  deep  distress — demand  response  divine  ; 

He  sees  our  future  as  no  other  can  !" 
So  Ano,  sister  of  Taphenes,  went 

With  bowed  head,  a  mother's  bursting  heart, 
The  way  she  was  with  shortest  warning  sent 

Though  master  power  had  torn  her  mask  apart ! 


A   REVISION   OF   TIRZAN   EVENTS.  25 

The  sightless  prophet's  prescience  saw  the  case  ; 

He  calleth  Ano,  "Wife  of  Israel's  King," 
Before  she  sees  his  sad  and  sacred  face, 

Then  says  :  "  'Tis  evil  tidings  that  I  bring 
From  Israel's  God  to  thee  and  thine  to-day  ! 

Thy  guilty  husband  hates  the  God  of  Heaven  ; 
Thy  pious  son  shall  pass  too  soon  away  ; 

To  him  alone  of  thine  is  burial  given  ; 
Thy  child  shall  die  to-day  ;  then  do  not  stay  ; 

Jehovah's  judgments  enjoin  no  delay  !" 


n. 
THERE'S  MOURNING  IN  THE  MANSIONS  OF  TIRZAH  TO-DAY. 

And  Jeroboam's  wife  arose  and  departed  and  came  to  Tirzah, 
and  when  she  came  to  the  threshold  of  the  door  her  child  died, 
and  they  buried  him  ;  and  all  Israel  mourned  for  him  according 
to  the  word  of  the  I^ord,  which  he  spake  by  Ahijah  the  prophet. 
— I  Kings  xiv. :  17-18. 

In  Tirzah  there's  mourning  to-day  ! 

Queen  Ano  is  coming  in  grief; 
Presuming  not  even  to  pray, 

Her  religion  can  give  no  relief ! 
But  heavily  harrassed  in  heart, 

She  sobs  the  dark  sovereign  decree, 
That  says  :  "  Thy  sick  son  shall  depart ; 

Thy  husband  left  houseless  shall  be  !" 

From  Shiloh  to  Tirzah— those  beautiful  towns  ! 

The  Princess  and  Pagan  pursues  her  prone  way  ; 
She  passes  her  peasants  in  peasantry  gowns, 

With  dust  on  her  head,  her  heart  in  dismay  ; 
And  just  as  she  enters  her  palace  of  state, 

Still  in  her  disguises,  her  dear  son  is  dead  ; 
Her  husband,  in  poignant  distress,  is  prostrate 

Upon  the  checked  pavement  beside  the  child's 
bed 


26  HASKKLIv'S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

Whereon  dead  Abijah — their  beautiful  boy  ! — 
Ivies  ghastly  and  ghostless,  this  moment  de- 
ceased, 
And  cheerless  and  childless  their  palace  of  joy, 

Whose  only  pure  spirit  has  just  been  released  ! 
Soon  weeping  and  wailing  in  Tirzah  resound  ; 

And  over  the  mountains  and  valleys  with  speed 
Dispatches  run  forth  to  the  regions  around, 

And    Blders    and   Chieftains  with  cherishing 

heed 
Come    burdened    to     Tirzah — "that     beautiful 

town"* — 
With  grief  and  good  gifts  there  to  garnish  the 

grave 
Of  the  son  of  their  Sovereign,  lost  heir  to  the 

crown, 

Whom  gods,   like  gold  calve.s,  all  combined, 
could  not  save. 

The  wiles  of  the  wicked  thus  woefully  foiled, 

All  hasten  in  sorrow  to  Ahijah,  the  Seer  ; 
But,  with  consciences  seared  and  characters  soiled, 
In  their  treason  and  fear  they  refused  still  to 

hear ; 
While  with   anguish   distressed   and   expectance 

despoiled, 

Both  the  King  and  the  Queen  from  their  future 
recoiled ! 


*  "Beautiful  as  Tirzah"  was  even  proverbial  in  the  Bible, 
and  the  ornamental  pavement  in  the  royal  palace  is  proven  by 
the  remains  still  visible  there.  I  discovered  one  costly  specimen 
by  the  shying  of  my  horse  on  my  way  from  Tyre  to  Sidon.  Shiloh 
was  Tirzah 's  rival  for  beauty. 

f  Shemer  originally  owned  the  beautiful  site  of  the  famous 
city  and  capital  of  Samaria— named  after  him.  That  city  of 
Samaria  is  in  perpetual  death,  as  predicted,  and  yet  beautiful  for 
situation,  and  magnificent  in  its  ruins.  This  once  luxuriant  city 
of  Jezreel  is  like  Samaria,  also,  and  the  site  of  Naboth's  vineyard 
is  near  by. 


THE   SEVENTY  HEADS   OF  AHAB'S   SONS.  27 

THOSE   SEVENTY   HEADS   OF  AHAB'S   SONS.       (II   Kings,  X,  I -10.) 

(At  jezreel.)f 
The  sun  shone  still  on  Shemer's  hill, 

Samaria's  proud  acropolis, 
When  Jehu  wrote,  where  Jezebel 

Had  left  her  citadel  as  his — 
He  wrote  a  note  from  Jezreel — 

To  the  King's  court  with  cunfiing  care, 
That  they  guard  Ahab's.  honor  well, 

And  for  his  sons  a  throne  prepare. 
But  none  would  do  King  Ahab  reverence — 

They  sent:    "We,   as  thy  subjects,  wait  thy 

will!" 
And  as  a  most  immediate  consequence, 

King  Jehu  wrote  :   "Then  you  at  once  must  kill 
All  Ahab's  sons  and  send  their  heads  to  me 

By  this  same  hour,  and  here,  to-morrow  eve ! ' ' 
That  night  were  with  insane  alacrity 

The  "seventy  heads "  made  ready  to  receive  ! 
The  sun  set  sad  and  still  on  Shemer's  hill, 

Samaria's  cruel,  cursed  Acropolis, 
When  the  embassadors  their  baskets  fill 

With  heads,  and  haste  from  their  metropolis, 
Down  through  the  costly  colonnade 

That  Omri  built  to  beautify  the  town, 
By  Baal's  temple,  made  to  test  his  aid, 

Along  the  Elsdraelon  villas  brown, 
And  set  the  sevety  heads  of  Ahab's  sons — 

The  seventy  sons  of  Ahab,  young  and  fair, 
Down  here  at  Jezreel's  gates,  upon  the  stones, 

In  equal  piles — of  pyramids  a  pair — 
And  at  the  dawn  King  Jehu  saw  the  sight 

With  cool  inquiry  :   "  Who  hath  done  all  this  ?" 
That  morn  shed  crimson  light  on  Shemer's  height, 

Samaria's  pagan,  proud  metropolis, 
And  left    o'er    Shemer's    bloom   a  shuddering 

blight- 
Left  o'er  Samaria's  height  eternal  night ! 


28  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

ALONE  WITH  GOD  WHERE  TWO  WAYS   MEET. 

When  riding  from  Gaash  to  Mt.  Gerazeem, 

I  came  to  a  point  where  the  plain  path  was  two, 

And  the  right  way  both  branches  did  equally  seem, 

And  no  mortal  was  near  to  tell  which  one  was 

true, 

And  my  \5fit  only  wot  of  one  safe  thing  to  do, 
And  that  must  be  prompt  as  I  very  well  knew — 
To  look  unto  God  for  the  right ! 

So  my  poor, -panting  steed  I  tied  fast  to  a  stone, 
And  bowed  by  the  way  my  flushed  face  to  the 

ground ; 

And  my  prayer  I  addressed  to  Jehovah  alone, 
Till  there   came  to  my  ears  a  faint,  tinkling 

sound, 

That  made  me  inspect  the  horizon  around, 
When  lo!  like  a  speck  toward  Mt.  Bbal  I  found 
My  tents  hasting  fast  from  my  sight ! 

This  coincidence  came  like  a  God-send  to  faith  ; 
For  the  bells  could  be  heard  only  by  the  bowed 

head, 
And  their  vibrations  moved  with  the  suppliant's 

breath 

From  the  true  Shechem  path  where  the  cara- 
vans tread  ; 
Where  the  guercons  were   going  with  shelter 

and  bed  ; 

Thus  the  impulse  to  prayer  and  to  Providence 
led 

To  my  cot  and  my  tent  for  the  night. 

As  I  pillowed  my  head  on  my  poor  Syrian  bed, 
And  ponder  the  path  I  have  trodden  to-day, 
I'm  constrained  here  to  write,  what  so  often  is 
read, 


FROM   GAASH  TO  MT.   GERAZEEM.  29 

How  provender  and  prayer  hinder  not  on  our 

way  ; 
That  young  men  and  old,  ere  in  wrong  paths 

they  stray 
At  the  forks  of  the  roads,  should  remember  to 

pray; 

Aye,  with  God's  wisdom  unite  ! 

In  our  pilgrimage  here,  which  as  tourists  we  tread, 

If  there  be  the  two  ways  that  divergently  lie, 
The  one  leading  off  to  dark  realms  of  the  dead, 
And  the  other  to  the  regions  of  rest  in  the  sky, 
If  asked  for  advice,  I  would  ever  reply  : 
Choose  the  right,  nor  in  this  on  thy  guess  work 
rely, 

But  look  up  unto  God  for  light ! 

Had   I   kept  the   wrong  road,  I  had  gone  from 

Naplous, 
Far  away  from  my  comrades,  encampment  and 

stalls, 

To  dismount  after  dark  and  take  Bedween's  abuse, 
Or  joined   mountain  wolves   hounded  on   by 

jackals, 
With  no  comrade  in  reach  to  respond  to  my 

calls, 

Hence  how  faithful  the  voice  that  all  viewless 
then  falls, 

Saying  :  Seek  of  God  for  the  right ! 


30          HASKELUS  POEMS— ABROAD. 


ESTHER,    THE  QUEEN,    AND   THE  PERSIAN   WISE   MEN. 

Xerxes-Ahasuerus,  who  reigned  from  India  to  Ethiopia, 
made  a  feast  to  his  princes,  and  when  merry  with  wine  he  com- 
manded to  bring  Vashti,  the  Queen,  that  he  might  show  her 
beauty.  But  she  refused.  Then  the  King  commanded  officers 
to  gather  all  the  fair  virgins  into  Shushan,  the  palace,  that  the 
maiden  which  pleased  him  best  should  be  Queen.  And  the  King 
loved  Esther  and  made  her  Queen  instead  of  Vashti.  She  had 
neither  father  nor  mother,  and  the  maid  was  beautiful.— Esther 
i:  4. 

The  grandeur  of  the  gorgeous  East, 

The  splendors  of  the  Persian  court, 
The  richness  of  the  royal  feast, 

The  rigor  of  the  last  resort 
When  Vashti  spurned  the  King's  vain  call, 

The  hatred  of  the  Hebrew  race, 
The  choice  of  Esther  Oueen,  the  fall 

Of  Haman— how  these  crowd  the  case  ! 

No  pen  nor  pencil  can  improve  the  scene, 

No  "happy  hit "  by  painter  or  by  poet. 
Where  Vashti  was  by  vote  no  longer  Queen, 

And  edict  ordered  that  all  nations  know  it ; 
And  what  a  fever,  like  a  world  afire, 

Was  caused  by  King  Ahasuerus'  call 
For  all  fair  virgins  in  his  vast  empire, 

That  he  elect  the  fairest  of  them  all ! 

And  when   the   King  proclaimed  his    love  and 
choice 

And  took  an  orphaned  Jewess  to  his  throne, 
The  providence  of  God  with  plainer  voice 

Pronounced  His  ancient  people  still  his  own. 
When  cruel  Hainan's  dire  decree  came  due 

And  final  slaughter  all  the  Hebrews  feared, 
Then  Esther's  uncle,  Mordecai  the  Jew, 

A  guardian  of  both  Church  and  State,  appeared. 


KEPLER'S   NOTION  OF  THE   NEW   STAR.  31 

He  said  :  "  Think  not  to  save  thyself  alone  ! 

Thy  calling  thou  can'st  not  in  safety  miss  ; 
For  who  can  tell  if  thou  hast  reached  the  throne 

For  such  a  providential  time  as  this?" 
And  then  it  was  Esther,  the  Persian  Queen, 

The  orphan  niece  of  Mordecai,  the  Jew, 
Excelled  all  prince&ses  the  earth  has  seen 

In  all  that's  beautiful,  aud  brave  and  true, 
By  inspiration  high  as  e'er  hath  been, 
Whence  rose  the  mission  of  the  real  "Wise  Men." 


KEPLER  S  NOTION  OF  THE  NEW  STAR. 

"Some  regard  the  Star  in  the  East  as  havingbeen  theconjunc- 
tion  of  the  planets  Jupiter  and  Saturn.  This  idea  was  first  pro- 
posed by  the  celebrated  astronomer  Kepler.  These  two  planets 
were  twice  in  conjunction  that  year.  The  first  was  visible  in  the 
east  before  sunrise  in  May  (20) ;  the  second,  October  27,  at  mid- 
night. They  appeared  to  the  .natural  eye  as  a  new  and  large 
luminary.  This  solution  is  recommended  by  its  simplicity, 
definiteness  and  scientific  basis."— Robinson's  Greek  Harmony. 

"  Our  triune  God  communicated  his  substance  to  the  adora- 
ble Michio  (Messiah),  who,  veiling  his  triune  majesty,  appeared 
in  the  likeness  of  a  man.  The  celestial  spirits  manifested  their 
joy,  and  a  virgin  brought  forth  the  Holy  One.  The  most  splen- 
did constellations  announced  this  happy  event ;  the  Persians  saw 
the  splendor  and  ran  to  pay  tribute." — A  Chinese  inscription  of 
the  seventh  century  :  George  Freeman  Clark. 

The  whole  stupendous  starry  host, 

Which  mind  did  out  of  matter  make — 
A  gift  of  God's  own  Holy  Ghost — 

May  well  earth's  "wise  men"  all  awake  ; 
For  oft  coincidences  rise 

In  science  and  its  Author's  Soul 
Which  scrutiny  of  earth  and  skies 

Convinces  are  of  one  control. 

37 


32  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

So  noble  Kepler  pointed  out  the  night 

When  Jupiter  and  Saturn  passed  in  line 
And  shone  together  in  the  East  so  bright, 

They  seemed  to  be  a  "new  star"  all  divine. 
When  first  they  met  it  was  the  flowery  May  ; 

In  autumn  harvest,  then  they  greet  again, 
And  note  the  Savior's  birth,  both  year  and  day 

With  stellar  measurements  that  still  remain. 

Hence  he  well  states  the  "wise  men"  saw  a  star 

Of  grander  beauty  than  before  had  been  ; 
So  broad  and  brilliant  it  was  seen  afar, 

As  if  commissioned  by  the  King  of  men  : 
Astrologers  would  to  this  star  attend 

With  earnest,  anxious  inquiry  to  find 
What  great  events  from  God  it  did  portend 

Of  bane  or  blessing  to  all  human  kind. 

The  long  captivity  in  Chaldee  land 

Of  Hebrew  learning  in  the  holy  line, 
Left  Messianic  mementos  at  hand 

To  help  the  sages  seek  the  holy  shrine 
Of  Judah  at  Jerusalem  that  very  year  ; 

And  from  the  mornings  of  the  vernal  May 
Until  their  greeting  would  again  appear, 

They  had  just  time  to  journey  all  their  way, 
And  Persian  patience  helped  them  persevere, 
And  now  that  "  Eastern  Star  "  is  shining  here  ! 


THE  MORNING  STAR  ON  PLAINS  OF  BETHLEHEM.    33 

THE  STAR  IN  THE  EAST— THE    PIOUS    MISSION  OF  THE 
PERSIAN   MAGI. 

"  Now  when  Jesus  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  behold  there  came 
wise  men  from  the  East,  saying  :  Where  is  he  that  is  born  King 
of  the  Jews,  for  we  have  seen  His  star  in  the  East  and  are  come 
to  worship  Him."  "  Balaam,  the  son  of  Beor,  said  :  There  shall 
come  a  star  out  of  Jacob  and  a  sceptre  out  of  Israel,  and  blessed 
is  he  that  blesseth  Him."  "Of  whom  Moses  and  the  prophets  did 
write — The  Prince  of  Peace." — Matthew  ii :  i  ;  Numbers  xxiv  :  9, 
17  ;  Isaiah  ix  :  6  ;  John  i  :  45. 

How  beautiful  are  new-born  stars, 

When  morn  first  rises  in  the  East, 
And  faithful  Phoebus  fires  his  cars 

To  find  a  new  day's  natal  feast, 
And  earth  wakes  up,  as  if  in  spring, 

Her  sweetest  voices  into  song, 
To  praise  the  Prince  of  Peace  as  King, 

And  "wise  men"  lead  the  adoring  throng. 

'Twas  thus — perhaps  near  proud  Percepolis — 

When  groups  of  Magi  marked  a  growing  light, 
Which  seemed  another  world  in  search  of  this, 

A  new-lit  wonder  in  the  wake  of  night, 
Until  the  damp  and  darkness  disappear 

Before  the  bright  advancing  of  the  day ; 
And  He  who  made  and  moved  the  shining  sphere 

Seemed  to  the  wistful  "wise  men"  thus  in  love 
to  say  : 

Ye  loyal  priesthood  of  the  P«arsee's  law, 

Ye  denizens  where  captive  seers  did  dwell, 
Behold  the  sacred  star  that  Balaam  saw 

When  called  to  curse  the  tents  of  Israel ; 
That  "rising  star  of  Jacob"  still  portends 

The  promised  "Prince  of  Peace"  o'er  all  to 

reign, 
Whose  realm  o'er  earth  extends  and  never  ends  ; 

Both  land  and  sea  are  bound  to    be   in    His 
domain. 


34          HASKELL'S  POEMS  — ABROAD. 

Westward  His  course  of  empire  takes  its  way, 

And  wise  men  well  may  watch  its  guiding  star, 
Till  purest  worship  to  this  Prince  they  pay, 

With  gifts  of  gold,  of  frankincense  and  myrrh  ; 
Then  join  your  legends  to  the  Jewish  laws 

With  pious  zeal,  O,  Zoroaster's  priest, 
And  so  espouse  earth's  Savior  and  His  cause, 

And  start  the  story   of  the  new  "Star  in  the 
East." 


"HAVE  MERCY  ON  us,  o  LORD,  THOU  SON  OF  DAVID!" 
(On  Leaving  Jericho,  April  10,  1862.) 

"And  as  they  departed  from  Jericho,  behold  two  blind  men 
were  sitting  by  the  wayside  begging,  when  they  heard  that 
Jesus  passed  by  they  cried  out,  saying :  Have  mercy  on  us,  O 
Lord,  thou  son  of  David."— Matthew  xx  :  29. 

0  Thou  Redeeming  One 
King  David's  divine  son, 

Be  merciful ! 

1  pray  for  sight  to  see 
Thyself  more  perfectly, 
And  by  Thy  word  to  be 

Made  clean  and  whole  ! 

0  let  me  now  come  near, 
With  holy  faith  and  fear, 

Dea/-  Lord,  to  Thee  ! 
The  good,  for  which  I  sigh, 
Is  faith  that  brings  Thee  nigh, 
For  Thou  art  passing  by, 

Incessantly ! 

1  turn  my  listening  ear 
Thy  loving  voice  to  hear 

Say  :  "Come  to  me! 
What  shall  I  do  for  thee  ?" 


PRAYING   FOR   SIGHT.  35 

And  this  is  all  my  plea, 

0  grant  me  sight  to  see 

Myself  and  Thee  ! 

1  cast  the  world  aside, 
Its  beggar-robes  of  pride, 

And  to  Thee  press  ; 
For  here  by  the  wayside 
The  two  blind  beggars  cried — 
Though  Pharisees  did  chide — 

And  Thou  didst  bless  ! 

There's  nothing  here  below 
Which  can  on  me  bestow 

The  good  I  crave ! 
God  of  Bternity, 
Do  Thou  my  guardian  be 
Help  me  Thy  path  to  see, 

Thy  power  to  save  ! 

Mercy,  Thou  Holy  One, 
Mercy,  King  David's  son, 

Mercy,  I  pray ! 
When  from  Jordan's  stream 
If  seek  Jerusalem, 
Ladder  of  Jacob's  dream, 

Be  Thou  my  way  ! 


36  HASKEW/S  POEMS  — ABROAD. 


THOUGHTS  AT   THE  OLDEST   GRAVE   ON   EARTH— MACHPELA. 

The  grave  of  the  three  Patriarches  is  the  oldest  well  authen- 
ticated one  in  the  world.  It  has  been  revered  by  a  succession  of 
Hebrews,  Moslems,  Christians  and  pilgrims  from  nearly  all 
peoples  under  the  sun  for  over  three  thousand  seven  hundred 
years.  It  is  well  protected  by  a  high  and  massy  wall  older  than 
the  Christian  era,  and  in  an  undulating  table-land  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  feet  above  the  Mediterranean  on  the  west,  and 
four  thousand  feet  above  the  Dead  Sea,  almost  in  sight,  on  the 
east.  Here  patriarches,  prophets,  kings  and  psalmists  passed 
pleasant  hours,  and  here  did  ancient  worthies  pass  away ;  and 
distinguished  men  and  women,  well  known  to  all  the  world,  lie 
buried  here.  Requiescat  in  pace! 

How  long !   how  still !   the  sleep  of  death  doth 
seem, 

In  this  dear  grave  of  great  Jehovah's  friend  ; 
While  life  itself  just  like  a  troubled  dream, 

Doth  toward  this  deep,  dark  slumber  tend 
And  ask  imploringly,  ' '  Is  this  the  end 

Of  man  ?' '  Yet,  what  hath  been  since  Jaob  died, 
That  could  continued  life  on  earth  commend  ? 

Were  Abram  still  alive,  and  by  my  side, 
In  view  of  all — what  verdict  would  be  here  replied  ? 

Is  there  no  answer  from  these  sleeping  dead? 

Do  they  not  heed  what  hath  in  Hebron  passed 
O'er  these  eternal  hills  they  used  to  tread, 

Which  still  appear  as  when  they  saw  them  last? 
Could  they  arise  and  survey  fully  cast 

O'er  the  whole  history  of  earth  and  man 
With  all  events  in  their  experience  vast — 

Compared  with  common  life — that  very  span — 
How  good  to  live  here,  through  the  future  and 
the  past  ? 

Alas !  the  long,  the  still,  deep  sleep  of  death  ; 

How  dark,  how  desolate  distinguished  graves  ! 
Silence  here  listens  with  suspended  breath, 


EARTH'S  OLDEST  GRAVE.  37 

"One   lot   for  patriarch es,   princes,   kings   and 

slaves ;  " 

For  all  alike  lie  down  and  sleep  in  dust. 
The  rich  man,  like  the  poorest  wretch  that  craves 
His  crumbs  !  In  spite  of  wealth  or  love  or  lust, 
All  toward  Machpela  move,  and  slumber  there 
they  must ! 

Legend  and  Law  come  from  the*  silent  land, 
With  chanting  voice  funereal,  join  to  say, 
"  There  is  an  Abraham  at  God's  right  hand 

In  Heaven,  receiving  saints  who  pass  away 
From  time  by  angels  borne  to  endless  day  ; 
And  in  that  Spirit  Land  they  live  in  rest. 
Earth  and  all  worlds  they  wakefully  survey, 

With   every    finite   power   in    pure   perfection 

blessed — 

The  sainted  dead  still  live  of  earth  and  Heaven 
possessed. 

The  morning's  light  her  mellowed  halo  lends  ; 

The  ages  onward  tramp  with  muffled  tread  ; 
The  heavenly  minstrelsy  in  silence  bends, 

And  old  Machpela  gives  me  back  her  dead  ; 
Now  Abr'am,  Isaac,  Jacob,  from  their  bed 

With  three  maternal  ancestors  of  Christ, 
Come  forth  with  Jesus  risen  at  their  head, 

And  Thou,  O  Son  of  God,  in  love  repliest, 
How  blessed,  if  in  the  faith  of  Abraham  thou 

diest ! 
HEBRON,  April  15, 1862. 


38  HASKEUv'S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

TO   SAINTS   IGNATIUS   OF   ANTIOCH   AND   COFFING   OF   AMERICA. 

(Suggested  at  Coffing's  Grave  in  Iscanderoon.) 
[Trajan  commanded  :  "  Inasmuch  as  Ignatius  of  Antioch 
confesses  that  he  carries  in  himself  the  Crucified  One,  let  him  be 
carried  by  soldiers  to  Rome,  and  thrown  to  the  beasts  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  people."— A.  D.  116.  My  fellow  student,  J. 
G.  Coffiing,  was  also  martyred  by  Moslem  at  Alexandretta,  near 
and  on  his  way  to  Antioch,  in  1862.  While  at  his  fresh  grave 
(May  13)  this  double  tribute  was  paid.] 

At  this  grave  of  my  grand  friend 

By  hands  of  Moslem  slain. 
Past  and  present  here  so  blend, 
Saint  Ignatius  seems  again 
Mingling  with  the  sons  of  men  ; 
Once  more  on  these  troubled  shores  to  tread, 

Tenderly  to  wipe  the  tears 
Which  above  this  mound  I  shed, 
Mourning  for  my  dear,  my  martyred  dead ! 

Friend  Coffin g,  dear !   Thou  art  not  here  I  know  ; 

For  thou  art  risen,  indeed,  with  righteous  dead  ; 
And  yet  I've  come  so  far  to  find  laid  low 

The  manly  form,  that  used  with  me  to  tread 
The  trying  labyrinths  of  trade, 
With  tender  voice  to  offer  timely  aid 
To  poor  neglected  poverty  and  pain  ! 

Though  oft  in  peril,  thou  wast  ne'er  afraid  : 
And  has  it  come  to  this— thou  art  here  slain? 
And  with  Ignatius  now  in  Heaven  dost  reign  ? 

Ignatius  !  Thou  princely  fellow  of  Saint  Paul ; 
Thou  very  joy  of  "him  whom  Jesus  loved  ;" 
O  thou  whom  first  the  world  did  Christian  call, 
And  who  to  martyrdom  was  well  approved, 
Thou  seemest  on  these  hills  this  hour  to  stand, 
And,  like  some  tall  arch  angel,  wave  thy  hand 
From  scenes  of  earth  away  to  yonder  seat, 

Where  now  are  gathered  in  a  glorius  band 


MARTYRDOM   OF   POLYCARP.  39 

Great  martyr  hosts,  my  fond  class-mate  to  greet, 
While   all  in  mighty  joy  fall  down  at  martyred 
Jesus'  feet. 

I  must  not  wait  to  watch  and  weep  this  hour  ; 

But  hasten  in  thy  wake  to  heed  the  way 
That  bore  thee  on  in  iron  bonds  of  power 

Which  from  the  hills  of  Rome  held  ruthless 

sway. 

I  see  thee  meet  thy  loving  student  mate, 
Saint  Polycarp,  at  Smyrna,  in  like  fate  ; 
I  feel  the  pressure  and  unfeeling  pride 
Of  Roman  soldiers  rudely  at  thy  side 
In  murderous  greed  thy  martyr  steps  to  guide — 
Such  scourged  and  crowned  with  thorns  the  cru- 
cified ! 
' Theophorus  "  thou  art!     Still  " bearing  Christ" 

within  thy  heart ; 

And  in  thy  power  with  Him  my  class-mate  hath 
a  part ! 


THE   MARTYRDOM   OF    POLYCARP. 

(Written  in  Smyrna,  Sabbath  IJvening,  May  18,  1862.) 

Far  up  in  the  ^Egean  sea, 

Above  the  brim  of  Scio's  isle, 
Sits  ancient  Smyrna,  leisurely 

Bestowing  round  her  May-born  srnile. 
The  summer's  sun  his  blazing  car 

Is  driving  down  the  Western  sky, 
And  o'er  the  house-tops,  near  and  far, 

High  hills  in  the  horizon  lie. 
A  balmy  breeze  is  in  the  air  ; 

A  Sabbath  stillness  sits  around  ; 
My  soul  goes  up  in  silent  prayer ; 

I  feel  as  on  enchanted  ground. 

38 


40  HASKEUVS  POEMS  — ABROAD. 

But  hark  !    Loud  guns  from  fort  and  fleet 

Now  boom  to  praise  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
And  worldliness  and  worship  meet ; 

Yet  over  all  one  Saint  prevails. 
A  more  than  prince  was  Polycarp  ! 

Old  Smyrna's  faithful  Antipas  ; 
Hark  !    Hear  ye  not  a  Heavenly  harp  ? 

It  is  St.  John's  sounding  his  praise  ! 

He  sings  those  words  of  holy  charm  : 

"Bighty-six  years  I've  served  my  Lord, 
And  he  has  never  done  me  harm  ;  * 

How  can  I,  now,  contemn  his  word?" 
He  points  us  back,  far  in  the  past, 

Where  his  friend  Polycarp  was  slain, 
His  day  of  death,  his  best,  his  last — 

That  day  he  calls  to  dawn  again  ! 

The  sun,  now  rising  in  his  might, 

Spreads  golden  light  o'er  land  and  sea  ; 
Poor  Polycarp  hath  spent  the  night 

In  prayer  to  die  triumphantly. 
Wise  man  !    Well  done  ;  for  cruel  beasts 

And  fiercer,  prowling  men  of  prey 
Have  joined  to  celebrate  their  feasts 

Upon  thine  agony  to-day  ! 

The  morn  glides  on  ;  the  Stadium 

With  eager  men  is  densely  thronged  ; 

The  execution  hour  is  come  ; 

Nor  can  it  be  one  sand  prolonged. 

The  amphitheatre  holds  breath, 
In  waiting  for  the  King's  decree, 

*  Polycarp' s  words  when  offered  life  if  he  would  curse  his 
Lord,  were  :  "Eighty-six  years  have  I  now  served  Christ  and  he 
has  never  done  me  any  wrong  j  how  then  can  I  curse  his  name  ?" 
When  threatened  with  both  wild  beasts  and  fire,  he  assured  the 
pro-consul  that  he  feared  neither  and  was  ready  for  death,  and 
then  thanked  Christ  for  the  privilege  of  sharing  in  his  martyr- 
dom. 


MARTYRDOM   OF   POI.YCARP.  41 

And  nothing  but  the  Christian's  death 
Can  set  the  spell-bound  masses  free. 

That  man  of  prayer  to  whom  Christ  sent 

The  Spirit's  message  to  his  fold 
In  the  arena  now  is  bent, 

And  Heaven  has  more  than  it  can  hold  ! 
The  hovering  hosts  of  holy  ones, 

That  haste  adown  the  "Castle  Hill," 
Are  come  as  God's  beloved  sons, 

To  see  this  saint  suffer  His  will. 

As  there  he  stands  in  felon's  chains, 

The  King  appears  in  royal  state, 
And  shouts  ascend  in  shocking  strains 

As  he  points  toward  the  lion-gate. 
A  band  of  soldiers,  waiting,  stand 

Obedient  to  his  stern  behest — 
He  speaks,  and  at  his  loud  command, 

A  Lybian  lion  leaves  his  nest. 

Composed,  as  angel- faces  are, 

The  son  of  "  Him  whom  Jesus  loved  " 
Keeps  the  fierce  monster  still  with  prayer ; 

And  both,  like  statues,  stand  unmoved. 
Sublimity  !    Thou  art  outdone  ! 

Behold,  that  beast  so  kept  at  bay  ! 
'Tis  more  than  pauses  of  the  sun 

When  lions  pause  while  Christians  pray  t 

So  brutish  is  the  human  heart, 

Not  even  this  could  men  appease  ; 
But  they  use  yet  more  cruel  art, 

And  for  the  stake  the  victim  seize. 
Both  Jews  and  Gentiles  now  engage 

To  burn  to  death  the  man  of  God. 
O  ruthless,  false  religious  rage  ! 

Beyond  a  leopard's  thirst  for  blood  ! 


42          HASKELL'S  POEMS  — ABROAD. 

The  fire  by  pagan  oaths  is  fanned  ; 

The  Jews  fetch  fagots  for  the  flame, 
While  wrapt  in  glory  he  doth  stand 

And  still  confess  the  Christian  name  ! 
"  Praise  God  !  "  he  cries,  "for  this  good  hour 

For  death  indeed  doth  not  destroy  ; 

O'er  pain  and  death  I'm  given  power  : 
I  drink  my  Master's  cup  with  joy ! " 

So  saints  and  angels  haste  to  sing  : 
"  Thou,  Polycarp,  art  dying  well  ! 

We  robe  and  crown  thee  Priest  and  King, 
And  victor  over  death  and  hell !  " 

'Tis  more  than  proud  salutes  of  state 

To  proudest  princes  of  the  earth 
When  grace  divine  thus  crowns  as  great 

A  Prince  of  God  by  heavenly  birth- 
Then  let  the  guns  from  forts  and  fleets 

Boom  on  to  greet  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
And  noisy  thousands  throng  the  streets  ; 

Yet  over  all  this  Saint  prevails  ! 

My  peace  divine  the}7  do  not  mar. 

Saint  Polycarp  seems  hovering  near, 
And  sets  the  gates  of  Heaven  ajar 

So  wide  that  I  can  see  and  hear — 
See  beams  of  heavenly  light  and  bliss, 

Hear  music  which  each  martyr  sings  ; 
I'd  give  ten  thousand  worlds  like  this 

To  rank  with  him  'mong  priests  and  Kings, 

And  wander  forth  on  angel's  wings  ! 


A  BLIND  DISCIPLE)   BURNED   AT   DERBY.  43 

THK    LAST    ENGLISH    MARTYR   WAS   THE    BLIND    YOUNG   WOMAN, 
JOAN   WASTE,   WHO  WAS    BURNED   AUGUST   15,    1558. 

[Miss  Waste  was  a  poor  blind  orphan  girl,  left  to  the  care  of 
her  brother  Roger.  She  had  earned  money  by  knitting  to  buy  a 
New  Testament,  which  a  man  in  prison  for  debt  read  to  her 
daily.  She  was  sentenced  to  death  for  owning  a  Testament  and 
believing  the  sacrament  was  only  a  memorial  of  the  death  of  her 
Divine  Master.] 

One  cold  and  misty  morn  in  March 

With  my  kind  Derby  host  I  stood 
Upon  the  spot,  beneath  the  arch 

Of  England's  sky,  in  reverent  mood, 
And  heard  the  tale  that  here  is  told 

Of  that  blessed  maid,  both  poor  and  blind, 
But  worth  her  weight  in  pearls  and  gold 

For  wealth  of  faith  within  her  mind  : 

'Twas  "Bloody  Mary"  sought  this  martyr's  blood  ! 

And  fitting  the  last  faithful  one  to  fall 
Should  be  a  woman,  guileless,  weak  and  good, 

And  blind — to  cap  the  climax  of  them  all  ; 
And  this  her  judgment — "Joan  Waste 

Is  sentenced  (for  her  love  of  sacred  truth) 
To  be  led  forth  and  burned  in  haste — 

In  spite  her  sex,  her  blindness  and  her  youth  !  " 

I  stood  and  studied,  in  the  damp,  chill  air 

The  hour  this  poor  blind  girl  to  ashes  burned  ; 
I  watched  the  flames  that  wafted  up  her  prayer  ; 

And  o'er  her  spotless  youth  my  spirit  yearned. 
Poor  Roger  rose  to  view,  and,  hand  in  hand, 

Clung  bravely  to  her  with  a  brother's  heart, 
As  long  as  the  hot  flames  his  flesh  could  stand  ; 

Then  with  desire  we  saw  her  soul  depart ! 

I  stood  there  silent,  thrilled  with  solemn  thought, 
While  my  good  host  portrayed  before  his  guest 

The  tender  lessons  that  last  scene  hath  taught 

Till  England,  stained  with  blood,  stands  washed 
and  blessed. 


44  HASKEXI/S  POE)MS  — ABROAD. 

Her  Church  soon  rose  to  life  from  her  saints'  death  ; 

The  State  awoke  the  study  of  God's  word  ; 
To  brother's  love  were  brought  both  life  and  breath  ; 

Free  speech  there  lives — "the  spirit  of  the  Lord ;" 
The  blind  all  see  what  blessed  Messiah  saith, 

And  joyful  worlds  are  Joan  Waste's  award : 
'Twere  worth  ten  thousand  worlds  like  this  to  have 

her  wealth  and  have  her  bliss, 

And  with  her  see  the  King  of  kings,  and  do  his  will 
on  martyrs'  wings  ! 


ON    MARS'    HILL,   ATHENS,   GREECE. 

(At  6  p.  m.  May  29,  1862). 

Here  I  stand  on  the  Hill  of  Mars  ! 

Emotions  deep  and  holy  thrill, 
Above  regard  for  art  or  wars, 

Above  the  power  of  pride  or  will ; 
The  vesper  bell  hath  called  to  prayers  ; 

Its  lingering  echo  calleth  still  ; 
I  heed  the  call. 

O  God,  through  endless  years  the  same, 
While  on  these  rocks  I  bend  the  knee, 

And  speak  adoringly  Thy  name, 
As  ruler  of  eternity 

And  fountain  of  all  lasting  fame, 
Do  thou  come  near,  thyself  to  be 
My  all  in  all ! 

Imbue  me  with  my  Master's  might, 
L/ike  him  who  on  this  very  spot 

The  unknown  God"  led  forth  to  light 
From  altars  which  had  known  him  not ! 

Make  me  immortal  in  Thy  sight 
Beyond  where  empires  die  and  rot, 
Nor  let  me  fall ! 


TO   FLORENCE,  ITALY.  45 

Look,  too,  upon  my  distant  land, 

And  on  its  troubled  sea  breathe  peace  ; 

Its  Christian  life,  for  aye  command  ! 

And  from  this  grand  old  land  of  Greece, 

Where  storied  liberty  doth 'stand, 
Lord  lift  the  pall ! 


DEAR   FERENZIE,  FAREWELL. 

(Written  in  diligence  on  way  up  the  Appennines,  June  14). 

O  Fereuzie,  *  thou  fair  city  midway  between  two 
seas ; 

Thou  diamond  on  Italia's  heaving  breast ; 
Thou  Queen  of  the  successive  Tuscanies — 

Thy  very  stones  f  are  blest. 

Thy  gray  old  Arno's  fair  and  fertile  classic  banks 
and  vales  ; 

Thy  guardian  hills  of  Appennine  around  : 
Thy  purest,  sweetest  of  Italian  gales, 

Say,  "  Thine  is  sacred  ground  !  " 

Thine  ancient  names  of  genius,  grandeur,  glory 
and  of  grace, 

Which  all  thy  long,  thy  far  famed  annals  fill, 
Reveal  the  vigor  of  an  unquenced  race 

Whose  life  gives  lustre  still. 

All  hail !  fair  city,  where  the  intense  Dante  sang 
and  fought, 

Where  Michael  Angelo  could  live  and  die, 
Where  Galileo  to  thine  altars  brought 

The  empires  of  the  sky  ! 

Hail !  hail !  thou  fair  Ferenzie,  an  admiring,  fond 
farewell  ! 

I  leave  thee  now ;  I'll  hold  thine  image  fast ; 
And  when  I  look  on  it  will  wish  to  dwell 

With  thy  loved  sons  at  last. 

*  Ferenzie  is  the  Italian  for  Florence. 
t  The  best  mosaics  are  made  in  Florence. 


46          HASKLXVS  POEMS —  ABROAD. 

ON   THE  TOP   OK   MOUNT   RHIGI  THE   FOURTH   OF  JULY,   (1862.) 

(An  Impromptu.) 
On  the  top  of  Mount  Rhigi,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

Where  could  Independence  be  better  reviewed  ? 
When  these  mountains  announce  and  in  echoes  reply: 

"  Here  dwelleth  a  race  by  no  tyrants  subdued!" 
On  the  top  of  Mount  Rhigi,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

Free  Switzerland's  standpoint  for  studying  states  ; 
As  if  keeping  watch  from  the  towers  on  high, 

To  determine  their  ranks  and  their  relative  fates. 

On  the  top  of  Mount  Rhigi,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

With  the  best  panorama  the  world  can  afford, 
Where  all  the  earth's  empires  appear  to  draw  nigh  ; 

And  the  ages  to  rally  at  the  wish  and  the  word. 
On  the  top  of  Mount  Rhigi,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

With  my  heart  beating  full  for  a  sight  of  our  flag, 
While  "the  Red,  White  and  Blue"  are  just  dawned 
in  the  sky, 

And  the  arrows  of  Tell  dart  in  light  from  each  crag. 

When  the  bold  bounding  day-beams  of  a  morn  in  July, 

Are  hung  out  and  gilded  on  the  heights  of  Bernard, 
And  the  Jura  and  Jungfrau  toss  up  in  reply 

Their  mantles  of  glory  to  Saint  Bonivard  ! 
'Tis  a  scene  most  befitting  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

Yet  its  like  ne'er  again  upon  earth  to  enjoy, 
Begets  in  my  heart  both  a  song  and  a  sigh 

And  commingles  my  cup  with  regretful  alloy. 

And  the  sights  and  the  sounds,  too,  this  Fourth   of 

July, 

Which  come  rolling  up  from  my  country  afar, 
Are  too  awful  and  dread  for  the  ear  or  the  eye  ; 

Two  words   comprehend  them — "Rebellion   and 

War!" 
Still,  I  hail  my  dear  country,  this  Fourth  of  July ! 

More  dear  to  me  now  in  her  day  of  distress, 
While  her  millions  of  freemen  are  willing  to  die 


ON  MOUNT   RHIGI  THE   FOURTH   OF  JUI,Y.         47 

The  world  with  her  freedom  forever  to  bless  ! 
Now  Time's  truest  patriots,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

Far  away  from  their  hearthstones,  are  heeding  the 

call, 
Of  their  country,  to  blot  out  that  miserable  lie 

Of  "  freedom  for  some  and  not  freedom  to  all  !" 

0  my  Country  !   dear  Country  !   this  Fourth  of  July  !* 
How  I  weep  at  the  sight  of  thy  suffering  fame, 

And  feel  that  I,  too,  would  be  willing  to  die, 
To  add  but  one  ray  to  the  light  of  thy  name  ! 

Yes,  here  on  this  altar,  this  Fourth  of  July  ! 

The  year  of  our  Lord,  eighteen  sixty  and  two, 

1  swear,  in  Christ's  name,  with  thy  calls  to  comply 

And  do  for  thy  weal  what  God  gives  me  to  do  I 
On  the  top  of  Mount  Rhigi,  this  Fourth  of  July  I 

'Tis  a  fact  to  record  and  remember  for  aye — 
Even  though  I  now  say,  at  five-thirty,  "  Good  bye  !'r 

And  at  Grutli  and  Altdorf  still  hallow  the  day. 

Yes,  to  Altdorf  and  Grutli,  my  Fourth  of  July 

I  have  pledged  as  a  proof  of  my  love  for  them  both  ; 
No  patriot  could  pass  Tell's  nativity  by, 

Nor  the  sweet  grassy  spot  of   "the  triple    Swiss 

oath." 
So  away  !    I'll  away  !    This  sweet  morn  in  July, 

Down  the  mountain    and  lakes    for    a    Glorious 

Fourth  ! 

All  alone  I'll  express  what  there's  none  to  deny — 
Love's  prayer  for  my  country  !    The  South  and  the 
North ! 


*  Some  may  wonder  that  a  patriot  should  be  traveling  abroad 
at  such  a  time  ;  but  the  answer  is  this  :  After  writing  several 
books  for  the  soldiers,  addressing  vast  assemblies  in  their  behalf 
and  attending  to  my  parish,  much  bereft  by  the  war,  I  became  so 
ill  for  want  of  sleep  that  my  people  kindly  gave  me  $1,200  with 
which  to  go  beyond  the  sound  of  war,  in  hope  that  I  might 
recover  from  my  dangerous  insomnia.  The  result  was  my  resto- 
ration to  health  and  doing  more  service  to  my  country  abroad 
than  I  could  have  rendered  at  home.  Yet  my  desire  to  return 
was  so  intense  as  to  hasten  my  travels  more  than  would  have 
been  in  times  of  peace. 
39 


48  HASKEIvL'S   POEMS  — ABROAD. 

"GRUTLI  GREEN"  AND  "LES  TROIS  SWISSE." 
(The  Heroes  of  Basle,  of  Briton  and  of  Bunker  Hill.) 

Upon  the  bosom  of  that  Lucerne  Lake 
Which  bathes  the  feet  of  Rhigi's  royal  mount, 

At  noon,  at  night  and  every  morn, 
My  first  and  last  fond  view  I  take 
Of  Grutli  Green,  on  which  a  triple  fount 

Reveals  where  the  "Three Swiss"  were  sworn — 

Sworn  by  each  other  in  God's  holy  name 
Their  country  from  the  Austrian  yoke  to  free — 

On  this  they  staked  their  earthly  all  ; 
And  so  they  planted  germs  of  future  fame 
Whose  truant  leaves  of  Freedom's  spreading  tree 
On  far  and  potent  empires  fall. 

From  their  true  hearts,  as  brave  as  they  were  true, 
Three  fountains  sprung  of  courage,  faith  and  prayer ; 

They  forthwith  vanquished  every  foe, 
And  waked  Republics  where  else  thrones  were  now, 
Asylums  for  the  oppressed  who,  in  despair 
Of  rights  at  home,  might  hither  go. 

With  them  as  models  at  a  later  date 
A  thousand  and  three  hundred  patriots  fell ; 
Ten  only  stood  above  the  fallen  ranks 
To  tell  how  hard  they  fought  and  their  sad  fate, 
And  in  a  nation's  grateful  heart  to  dwell 
And  share  its  monumental  thanks. 

This  was  at  Basle  in  fourteen  forty-four  : 
"Our  souls  to  God,  our  bodies  to  the  foe," 
Is  with  a  pen  of  iron  graved  and  set 
Upon  the  tablet  stationed  to  deplore 
The  Franco-Austrian  and  tyrannic  woe, 

Whose  bloody  menace  lingered  yet. 


HOME'S  IN  SIGHT.  49 

In  fourteen  ninety-nine  six  thousand  Swiss 
Beat  thrice  their  number,  in  the  Dornach  field, 

Of  Austria's  massed  and  mercenary  hordes  ; 
And  most  of  all  exults  the  world  in  this  : 
That  "they  could  die,  but  they  would  never  yield 
A  cause  they  knew  to  be  the  Lord's." 

With  them  as  models,  the  Cromwellian  lines 
Stood  up  with  Puritanic  pluck  and  power ; 

With  them  as  models  also  o'er  the  main, 
Where  light  of  freedom  now  effulgent  shines, 
In  "  'seventy-six"  and  in  this  anxious  hour, 
The  "triple  oath "  is  vowed  again. 

There  with  the  Puritans  the  aliens  stand, 
By  oath  enfranchised  and  forever  free, 

And  negro  slaves  are  armed,  unbound, 
And  sworn  to  save  their  native  land, 
And  'neath  the  boughs  of  Freedom's  bruised  tree, 
Their  mingled  blood  doth  bless  the  ground. 


I  AM  HAPPY — HOME'S  IN  SIGHT. 

I  am  happy  !  very  happy,  nearing  Boston  down  the 
bay! 

Hastening  onward,  hasting  homeward  from  my  wan- 
derings far  away : 

"  Wet  Arabia,"  plow  the  billows,  fill  the  mprn  with 
golden  spray  ! 

I  am  happy!    I  am  grateful,    and  with  thanks  my 

heart  o'er  flows, 
As  my  long  eventful  journeys  hasten  to  their  longed 

for  close  : 
I  am  grateful  and   am  happy,   more  than  anybody 

knows ! 


50  HASKEM/S    POEMS -ABROAD. 

I  am  happy,  grateful,  hopeful,  as  the  sea-gull  o'er  me 

sports  ; 
I  am  hopeful,  aye,  and  thankful,  as  we  pass  familiar 

forts  ; 
I  am  peaceful  and  yet  anxious,  as  the  pilot  brings 

reports : 

The  reports  that  back  from  Richmond,  with  a  dreadful 

loss  of  life, 
Mild   McClellan   has   retreated,  given   up   his  tardy 

strife, 
And  the  rebels  are  advancing !    Such  sad  rumors  now 

are  rife  ! 

O,  my  heart  is  sad  and  heavy  ;  I  am  sad  and  sick  at 

heart ; 
For  I  now  approach  my  country  with  no  power  to 

impart 
Peace  or  triumph — O,  my  Country,  dear  thou  art ! 

Down  my  cheeks  I  feel  the  coursing  of  thy  grief  and 

bloody  sweat, 
Much  as  if  God's  Word  Incarnate  were  at  prayer  in 

Olivet 
And  the  fading  sun  of  Freedom  were  forever  now  to 

set! 

But,  O,  no  !  The  right  shall  triumph,  and  my  native 

land  shall  live, 
As  a  happy  blood  bought  nation,  and  this  war  shall 

be  the  sieve 
Which  shall  sift  the  good  •  from  evil,  and  the  better 

seed  shall  give. 

Yes,  I'll  pray  that  every  battle  in  this  war  so  fierce 

and  long 
May  but  haste  the  final  triumph  of  the  right  against 

the  wrong, 


HOME'S  IN  SIGHT.  51 

When  returning  tides  of  music  shall  bring  back  the 
victor's  song, 

And  the  Nation,  nobly  ransomed,  shall  be  bound  for 

aye  as  one, 
By  the  golden  rules  of  Heaven  and  as  radiant  as  the 

sun, 
And  the  mourners  and  the  martyrs  both  delight  in 

what  is  done. 

I  am  grateful,  hopeful,  happy  !  as  I  reach  these  native 

shores, 
As  I  write  these  patriot  numbers,  which  my  thankful 

spirit  pours  ; 
My  whole  being  bows  in  worship,  and  my  father's 

God  adores  ! 

But  how  happy  !  now  how  happy !  nearing  Boston, 
down  the  bay  ; 

"  Wet  Arabia,"  plow  the  billows,  fill  the  morning  full 
of  spray  ; 

Bear  me  onward,  bear  me  homeward,  for  my  wander- 
ings end  to-day  ; 

Aye,  my  long  eventful  absence  now  is  coming  to  its 

close, 
And  my  heart  with  glad  thanksgiving  more  than  ever 

overflows  ; 
I  am  happy,  aye,  and  grateful  more  than  any  mortal 

knows  ! 


II. 
PATRIOTIC. 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  THE  PATRIOT  E.  D.  M' MASTER,  D.  D.r 
LONG  PRESIDENT  OF  MIAMI  UNIVERSITY,  AND  ANTI- 
SLAVERY  LEADER  OF  HIS  TIME  IN  THE  WEST.  (DIED, 
1866.) 

I. 

There  is  a  grandeur  in  the  mountain  peaks, 

That  point  their  granite  fingers  toward  the  stars  ; 
There  is  an  emphasis  when  lightning  speaks 

And  trails  the  eternal  cliffs  with  lasting  scars  ; 
There  is  a  beauty  in  the  thundering  storm, 

When  it  has  passed  and  done  more  good  than  harm, 
And  bows  of  hope  are  hung  in  graceful  form 

To  give  the  darkest  clouds  the  brightest  charm. 

IT. 
And  perfect  Nature  everywhere  proclaims 

A  Providence  more  perfectly  sublime  ; 
And  in  that  Providence  stand  towering  names 

That  rise  above  the  level  of  their  time ; 
The  names  of  men  whose  broad  horizon  hung 

Around  the  circuit  of  the  coming  age 
And  all  the  past ;  whose  purposes  were  strung 

To  deeds  that  bend  in  light  o'er  history's  page. 

in. 
The  eras  most  prolific  of  such  men 

Are  those  of  moral  and  heroic  strife, 
In  which  a  forecast,  like  a  prophet's  ken, 

Leaps  farther  than  the  longest  human  life, 


54  HASKEUVS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

And  lays  all  bare,  like  some  bold  mountain  throne, 
The  mightiest  issues  of  the  impending  hour, 

And  makes  them  in  the  plainest  meaning  known, 
So  that  the  masses  see  and  feel  their  power. 

IV. 

An  epoch  such  as  that  is  scarcely  passed  ; 

The  cloud-capped  mountain  peaks  are  in  full  sight, 
And  men  are  led  to  see  and  feel  at  last 

That  they  are  great  who  see  and  serve  the  right ; 
Who,  grasping  issues  of  advancing  years, 

Like  ancient  prophets  sent  the  steps  of  fate, 
See  what  is  not  as  yet  by  what  appears, 

And  learn  at  once  to  serve  both  Church  and  State. 

v 
When  this  is  done  without  a  shade  of  doubt, 

And  friends  and  foes  stand  all  around  to  view 
The  doubtful  tables  fairly  turned  about, 

And  what  was  promised  in  detail  is  true  ; 
When  the  contested  wrongs  are  all  made  right, 

And  they  who  wrought  have  rectified  the  same — 
How  honored  then,  and  ready  for  his  flight, 
The  moral  hero  with  untarnished  name ! 

VI. 

He  towers  beyond  our  touch  but  cannot  die  ; 

His  life  is  lasting  as  the  lofty  hills, 
And  lifts  our  footsteps  into  purer  sky 

Where  dew  of  Hermon  on  our  head  distills  ; 
And  there  we  see  him  far  on  Pisgah's  height, 

The   dawn   of  Heaven   hung  round  his  chastened 

brow, 
The  fleeing  clouds  reflect  prismatic  light 

And  he  is  ripened  into  glory  now. 

VII. 

"I  see  Heaven  opened,  and  the  Son  of  God 

At  His  right  hand  in  robes  so  bright  and  clear, 

In  that  pure  city  where  the  saints  have  trod 
The  golden  streets  ;  I  die  without  a  fear !  " 


LONGFELLOW'S  DEATH.  55 

Said  he ;  and  he  is  dead  !    yet  lives  for  aye. 

That  form  we  almost  see  as  in  the  past ; 
That  voice  of  praise  still  teaches  us  to  pray  ; 

Yes,  he  is  dead  ;  but  liveth  crowned  at  last ! 

VIII. 

His  memory  on  earth  shall  long  be  blest ; 

His  life  a  lesson  for  the  sons  of  peace  ; 
And  he  has  entered  his  eternal  rest 

Where  all  his  saintly  honors  shall  increase. 
The  Church,  the  Bride  of  Christ,  hath  also  said : 

"The  wreath  once  wrongly  wrested  *  is  restored  ;" 
The  Lord  himself  hath  crowned  with  life  the  dead  ; 

And  be  God's  faithfulness  and  love  adored  ! 


LONGFELLOW  IS  NOT  DEAD. 

An  Impromptu,  on  reading  in  the  telegram  from  Boston  the 
sad  words  which  said  :  "  L,6ngfellow  is  dead." 

"  Longfellow  is  dead"  the  telegram  said  ; 

With  rending  hearts  we  received  it ; 
We  read  and  re-read,  and  wept  and  re-read, 

As,  wishing  to  doubt,  we  believed  it ; 
Then  sighing  we  said  :  "Longfellow  is  dead, 

Hath  passed  over  Death's  silent  river, 
From  scenes  where  he  trod,  to  the  bosom  of  God, 

4  The  Father  of  Spirits  '  and  giver. 

And  yet  is  it  so  ?     From  mortals  below 

Is  Longfellow  gone,  and  forever  ? 
Our  hearts  answer,  No  :  it  surely  's  not  so  ; 

His  soul  nothing  from  us  can  sever  ! 
His  spirit  of  song  shall  still  sing  along, 

His  pure  heart  still  beat  in  his  pages, 
Appealing  for  right,  opposing  the  wrong  ; 

He  lives  thus,  and  will  through  the  ages. 


*  Dr.  McMaster,  for  his  hostility  to  slavery,  was  for  several 
years  unemployed  as  professor  or  president,  but  died  in  the  chair 
of  theology  at  Chicago. 
40 


8  HASKELL'S  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

I  hear  now  the  sweet  voice  that  oft  made  me  rejoice' 

Sometimes,  when  else  had  been  sadness  ; 
And,  like  the  sunbeam,  that  lights  the  dark  stream, 

It  touches  my  grief  with  his  gladness. 
Longfellow  's  not  dead,  as  the  telegram  said  ; 

Nor  yet  is  the  telegraph  lying  ; 
The  good  man  and  blessed  hath  gone  to  his  rest, 

But  his  "Works  "  will  never  know  dying  ! 
DENVER,  March  24,  (p.  m.),  1882. 


AN   ECHO   OF  THE  AOES. 

(Dedicated  to  Forefather's  Day,  December  22,  A.  D.  1882). 
The  world  still  moves,  and  time  ; 

The  ages  come  and  go, 
Singing  their  solemn  rhyme 

As  seasons  ebb  and  flow  ; 
Still  Nature's  pulses  beat, 

And  human  hearts  still  throb, 
And  weary  human  feet 

Still  tread  the  whirling  globe. 

What  has  been  still  will  be  ; 

Earth  has  no  time  to  rest ; 
But  over  land  and  sea 

Her  onward  years  are  pressed. 
Two  centuries  and  more 

Have  hurried  on  their  way 
Since  by  the  Plymouth  shore 

The  anchpred  Mayflower  lay. 

That  ship  no  more  is  there ; 

The  camp  fire  near  hath  fled  ; 
But  in  our  Freedom's  air 

I  hear  the  silent  tread 
Of  those  who  crossed  the  sea 

And  there  first  lit  that  fire  ; 
I  hear  them  speak  to  me  ; 

Their  words  my  will  inspire  : 


AN   ECHO   OF  THE  AGES.  5? 

"  Dear  children  of  the  past, 

In  whom  the  future  lives, 
That  life  shall  longest  last 

Which  most  to  future  gives. 
Our  former  foes  ye  face  ; 

The  ills  we  fought  ye  fight, 
And  still  must  save  the  race 

By  battling  for  the  right." 

It  is  no  false  mistake  ; 

Those  holy  souls  I  hear — 
The  rustling  sounds  they  make, 

The  whispers  in  my  ear  ; 
Though  dead,  they  are  not  dead  ! 

Those  Pilgrims  we  revere 
For  what  they  did  and  said  ; 

Behold,  they're  living  here  ! 

They're  living  in  our  life  ; 

They're  living  in  our  laws  ; 
They're  marshaling  the  strife 

In  every  noble  cause  ; 
In  us  they  live  and  move  ; 

They're  lifting  up  the  land, 
And  loving  what  we  love, 

Still  in  th'  ascendant  stand. 

Their  consecrated  nerve 

That  crossed  the  dangerous  deep, 
All  future  time  to  serve 

And  all  past  good  to  keep, 
Stirs  in  great  issues  still 

Upon  Time's  tossing  sea, 
As  when  they  first  did  thrill 

With  love  of  liberty  ! 

And  from  old  Plymouth  bay 
Up  to  the  mountain's  crest 


'58  HASKEUVS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

Their  cause  shall  win  the  day 
And  all  the  world  be  blest. 

For  Nature's  pulses  beat, 

And  human  hearts  still  throb 

And  weary  pilgrim  feet 

Still  tread  the  whirling  globe. 

All  honor  to  the  men 

And  to  their  modest  wives 
Who  did  and  suffered  then 

And  sacrificed  their  lives  ; 
And  honor  to  their  sons 

And  well  trained  daughters  true- 
To  all  heroic  ones 

Who  fight  their  fight  anew  ! 


A   SEER-LIKE   SONG   OF   '56. 
I. 

A  cowboy  listening  to  the  bells 

Along  Ohio's  wooded  hills, 
Which  echoed  down  autumnal  dells 

Half  drowned  by  trundle  of  the  mills 
And  trickle  of  the  water-falls — 

Stands  heedless  of  the  changing  hues 
Of  varied  slopes  on  either  hand, 

Where  lavish  Nature  yearly  strews 
Her  ripening  fruitage  o'er  the  land  : 

Anon  his  cows  he  counts  and  calls. 

ii. 
Like  Alpine  bouviere 's  evening  song, 

His  voice  rings  gaily  down  the  glen, 
And  as  rich  music,  rolls  along, 

O'er  haunts  of  beasts  and  homes  of  men, 
And  echoes  back  in  broken  words  ; 

The  sun  declining  gilds  the  heights 


A  SEKR-LIKE;  SONG  OF  '56.  59 

With  burnished  gold  and  silver  sheen, 

While  eastward  slopes  strike  up  the  lights 
Of  cottage  fires  and  fields  between, 

And  homeward  wends  the  bidden  herds. 

in. 
The  sky  above,  the  stream  below 

Reflect  to  each  each  woodland  hue, 
And  fleecy  clouds,  as  pure  as  snow, 

Flake  out  in  folds,  red,  white  and  blue, 
And  triple  glory  crowds  the,  scene. 

The  woods  in  crimson,  gilt  and  gray, 
Stand  out  in  pointed  bas-relief, 

As  downward  glides  the  glistening  day, 
Enshrined  in  autumn's  joy  and  grief, 

And  trailing  robes  of  Nature's  Queen. 

IV. 

The  youngster's  eye  moves  with  the  light, 

And,  in  the  sun's  last  bended  ray, 
Sees  a  lone  maple  on  the  height, 

Which  glowed  in  crimson  all  the  day, 
And  facing  westward  toward  the  sun 

Now  seems  a  scarlet  bush  afire — 
"  And  is  God's  Angel  once  more  seen  ?  " 

His  curious  mind  moves  with  desire 
To  know  what  this  strange  sight  may  mean, 

When  lo  !  he  hears  the  Holy  One  : 

v. 
"Pause  where  thou  art,  with  feet  unshod  ! 

For  thou  art  upon  holy  ground  ; 
I  am  thy  free-born  father's  God  ; 

And  I  will  free  them  that  are  bound 
And  prove  my  pity  for  the  oppressed  ! 

I've  heard,  I've  heard  the  earnest  plea 
Four  million  bondmen  hourly  make 

That  I  shall  set  their  offspring  free 
And  all  their  long  worn  fetters  break  ; 

I've  sworn  their  wrongs  shall  be  redressed ! 


60  HASKEUVS   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

VI. 

"As  wind  worn  trees  in  crimson  dress 
Engender  sweets  through  winter's  strife, 

So  garments  rolled  in  blood  shall  bless 
The  war-worn  Nation's  chastened  life 

Till  all  the  sweets  of  freedom  flow. 

"  Come !  then,  thy  country  lies  enthralled  ; 

The  strife  of  right  and  wrong  runs  high  ; 
How  long,  how  long,  has  justice  called? 

Who  for  the  right  would  dare  to  die  ? 

(The  surgeon  must  soon  use  the  knife  ! ) 
Ivet  martyr  motives  move  thee  now  !  " 

VII. 

The  youth,  then  yielding  to  the  hour, 

Stood  for  the  right !  as  stout  and  stern 
As  Moses,  when  that  man  of  power 

Saw  unconsurned  the  foliage  burn  ; 
"  Lo,  here  am  I,  send  me  !  "  he  said— 

And  other  antumns  bright  and  fair 
With  grazing  herds  came  in  that  glen  ; 

But  that  young  cow-boy  was  not  there  ; 
H1's  step,  with  tramp  of  other  men, 

Had  borne  him  far — among  the  dead  ! 

VIII. 

With  yeomen  from  the  East  and  West, 

Who've  seen  the  crimson  field  of  blood 
And  folded  back  on  Heaven's  breast 

The  lurid  light  wherein  they  stood, 
He  went,  and  saved  from  thrall  the  State  ! 

Then,  as  the  sugar  tree  survives 
The  crimson  season  of  the  year 

And  of  its  vital  fluid  gives 
To  sweeten  life  both  far  and  near, 

The  blood  bought  Nation,  blessing,  lives  ! 


SLAVE-HOLDER'S  HORRORS  IN  '56.  Gl 

SLAVE-HOLDER'S   HORRORS   IN    '56. 
I. 

<l  They  say,"  that  the  negroes  (and  "  they  "  of  course 

know), 

Are  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  by  the  way, 
To  whisper  :     "  Fremont  will  let  us  all  go !  " 

And  for  Fremont's  election  they  all  of  course 

pray! 
They  say:     "That  the  field-hands  have  a  restiveness 

all, 

And  the  maids  in  the  house  a  modified  air, 
And  the  "darkies"  en  masse,  both  big  ones  and  small, 
Seem  shy  in  all  places,  even  places  of  prayer." 

ii. 

They  say:     "This  whole  region,  by  nature  so  grand, 
Is  like  embers  'neath  ashes  the  wind  blows  awray; 
That  the  whites  may  awake,  unable  to  stand, 

With  heads  smashed  or  throats  cut  on  any  new 

day. ' ' 
They  say:      "That  patrols — 'poor  white  trash'    of 

course — 
Are  seen   on  the   highways  from  sundown  till 

morn, 
To  '  keep  the  blacks  cowered  '  by  the  appearance  of 

force, 

And  keep  them  from  stealing  pigs,  poultry  and 
corn." 

in. 
They  say  :     "  It's  awful  !     Abolitionists  are 

At  the  bottom  and  top  of  this  bad  business,  sure !  " 
And  they  look  in  your  eye  and  half  ask  you  to  swear 
That  you'd  willingly  die  to  make  slavery  endure. 
But  I  hate  your  oppression,  ye  cowardly  knaves  ! 

And  defy  your  demands  that  I  bow  at  your  shrine 
Where  ye  offer  to  Moloch  your  manacled  slaves 

And  call  your  black  nuisance  "an  order  divine !  " 


«2  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

IV. 

I  denounce  in  your  teeth  your  terrible  sin 

Of  breeding  and  selling  and  buying  up  men, 
Because  they've  warm  hearts  and  a  very  dark  skin, 

And  their  father's  werekidnapt  and  kept  in  a  pen. 
I  deem  you  but  tyrants  !   whose  terrible  wrongs 

Shall  reach  to  High  Heaven  and  all  be  redressed 
And  the  clangor  of  arms  and  fair  Liberty's  songs 

Shall  change  our  scourged  land  to  ' '  the  land  of 

the  blest!" 
SHEPARDSTOWN,  VA.,  Oct.  18,  1856. 


THE    COUNTRY'S    SECOND    CALL    TO    ARMS— "  VOLUNTEER  !    VOL- 
UNTEER !  " 
I. 

And  did  ye  not  read  it !   that  late  proclamation, 
Of  Liberty's  guardian,  repeating  alarms? 
And  do  you  not  heed  it ;  the  voice  of  your  Nation, 
Her  Chieftain  still  calling  her  children  to  arms  ? 

Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near ! 

Ring  out  the  stern  tocsin  from  Danville  to  Dover —  * 
Your  country's  unsafe  !  with  all  you  hold  dear  ! 

The  Rebellion  still  rallies !    The  war  is  not  over ! 
Arouse  ye  !    To  arms !    To  arms  !  !    Volunteer ! ! ! 

n. 

Lo  !   God  is  commanding  for  Freedom's  protection 
That  slave-breeding  traitors  be  put  to  the  sword  ! 
And  Mercy  is  standing  to  speed  the  collection 
Of  swift  vindicators  of  "the  cause  of  the  Lord  !  " 
Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near  !  etc. 

in. 

Your  father's  are  pleading,  from  heights  of  their  glory 
To  save  for  the  future,  the  rights  they  bequeathed  ; 


*  Danville,  Ky.,  the  residence  of  that  Christian  hero,  Robert 
J.  Breckenridge  D.  D.,  and  Dover  was  called  the  banner  town  of 
New  England  then. 


THE   COUNTRY'S   SECOND   CAI.lv  TO  ARMS.          03 

Your  brothers  are  bleeding,  on  fields  fresh  and  gory, 
Near  worn  out  in  service,  their  swords  still  unsheathed  ! 

Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near  !    etc. 

IV. 

The  world  is  beholding  ;  all  ages  are  crying  ; 
"Now  stand  in  your  station  ;   the  crisis  is  nigh  !  " 
This  day  is  unfolding  what  hell  is  defying — 
The  hope  of  the  Nation,  your  courage  to  die  ! 

Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near  !   etc. 

v. 

From  Meroz  f  comes  flying  the  Lord's  mighty  Angel, 
With  curses  or  blessing  as  you  may  reply  ! 
The  crisis  confessing,  I  hear  your  evangel  ; 
"  For  the  Nation's  salvation  I'm  willing  to  die  !  " 

Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near  !  etc. 

VI. 

' '  My  Country  !  I  love  thee,  with  filial  devotion  ! 
Thy  mighty  Protector  shall  teach  me  to  fight  ; 
Enthroned  now  above  me  His  sovereign  emotion 
Shall  be  my  director  and  shield  in  the  right !  " 

Hurrah  !  Christian  heroes  !  Awake  far  and  near  ! 

Ring  out  the  stern  tocsin  from  Danville  to  Dover — 
"  Your  country's  unsafe  !  with  all  you  hold  dear  ! 

The  Rebellion  still  rallies  !  The  war  is  not  over  ! 
Arouse  ye  !  To  arms  !  To  arms !  !  Volunteer  !  ! !  " 


f  The  Angel  of  the  Lord  said  :  "  Curse  ye  Meroz  !  Curse  ye 
bitterly  the  inhabitants  thereof,  because  they  came  noti  up  to 
the  help  of  the  Lord,  to  the  help  of  the  Lord  against  the  mighty  " 
The  call  for  volunteers  had  been  there  much  as  it  was  here.  See 


Judges  V.  23. 


64  HASKKLL'S   POEMS  —  PATRIOTIC. 

"GIRDED   ON   HIS   FIELD   OF  BATTLE,"    OR  THE   WOUNDED 
SOLDIER  WON   TO   HIS   SAVIOR. 

[Suggested  by  the  death  of  my  dear  sister's  son,  George 
Haskell  Culver,  killed  in  the  battle  at  Corinth.] 

"Girded  on  his  field  of  battle,"  heeding  its  retiring 

roar, 
Prostrate   lies   a  bleeding  soldier,   sweating   cold  at 

every  pore. 

By  his  side  I  see   his   sabre,  near  him  unexploded 

shells, 
All  around  him  comrades  dying,  interchanging  last 

"  Farewells  !  " 

Tnere  amid  that  scene  of  horrors,  he  forgets  his  kill- 
ing pain, 

But  remembers  distant  dear  ones  he  may  never  meet 
again. 

From  his   breast  he  draws  a  locket,   fondly  carried 

night  and  day  ; 
Near  the  Gospels,  to  remind  him  of  his  friends  who 

love  to  pray. 

O:i  its  cover  are  his  colors,  which  he  marked  "Red, 

White  and  Blue;" 
But  within  it  are  two  faces — young  and   loving,  old 

and  true. 

Tney  are  not  his  sire  and  brother's — these  were  only 

like  his  own ; 
He  has  chosen  gentler  graces  to  beguile  him  when 

alone. 
One,  it  is  a  bride-like  picture!  Ah,  it  seems  an  angel 

face ! 
One — who  can  it  be  but — Mother  !     Both  bear  marks 

of  heavenly  grace. 
Yes,  they  were  the  soldier's  mother,  and  his  young 

and  pious  bride, 


GIRDED  ON  HIS  FIELD  OF  BATTLE.  65 

Who  had  placed  their  tiny  shadows  nestling  near  his 
wounded  side. 

He  has  often  looked  upon  them,  aye,  and  kissed  them 

o'er  and  o'er ; 
But  they  never  seemed  to  tell  him  of  his  dying  'Lord 

before. 

Now  they  are  intensely  vocal,  far  above  the  battle's 

din, 
Smiling  with  a  Christian's  comfort  in  the  sense  of 

pardoned  sin. 

That  maternal  look  now  leads  him,  like  the  bridal 

prayer  "Adieu," 
To  his  dying  Lord   commended,   and  his   views   of 

Christ  are  new. 

All  the  crimson  gore  about  him,  tracking  where  each 

soldier  trod, 
Seems  indeed  like  some  Elias  leading  to  "the  Lamb 

of  God!" 

All   that  scene,   disciples,  soldiers,    sorrows,    curses, 

prayers  and  blood, 
And  the  quaking  Earth  and  darkness  say  :     "  Behold 

the  Lamb  of  God  !" 

And  his  humble  hearty  pleading,  "Dying  Lord, 
remember  me  !" 

Answered  by  the  pledge  of  Heaven,  seals  his  immor- 
tality. 

So,   embalmed  in   Christian   courage,   he   soon   bids 

forebodings  cease, 
For  he  sees  the  din  of  battle  is  advancing  on  to  peace  ! 

Ah  !  the  distant  praying  dear  ones,  could  they  know 

how  calm  he  is, 
Would  seek  there  with  him  to  suffer  for  a  crown  as 

bright  as  his. 


66  HASKELUS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

TOLL  THE  KNELLS  !     SOUND  THE  BELLS  ! 

(An  Impromptu  on  Richmond's  Surrender  ;  April  3,  1865). 

I. 

Toll  the  knells  !     Sound  the  bells  ! 
Sound  the  bells  !     Toll  the  knells  ! 
Ring  the  bells  of  freedom  ; 
Toll  the  knells  of  treason  ; 
Strike  the  slow  refrain  ! 
Ring  the  bells  again  ! 
Ring  the  bells  till  music  swells 
Over  hills  and  over  dells, 
Over  sea  and  over  plain, 
The  Lord  is  come  in  peace  to  reign  ! 
Sing  the  songs  of  liberty  !    celebrate  the  jubilee  ! 
The  jubilee  !  the  jubilee  !     From  sea  to  sea  the  land 
is  free ! 

II. 

Toll  the  bells  as  victory  tells 
Of  the  woes  of  fallen  foes — 
Rebels  without  reason, 
Traitors  slain  for  treason  ; 
Weep  o'er  all  the  slain 
With  mourners  that  remain  ; 
And  yet  sing  till  mountains  ring 
With  jubilee,  for  the  land  is  free- 
Over  sea  and  over  plain, 
The  Lord  is  come  in  peace  to  reign  ; 
Sing  the  songs  of  liberty  !    celebrate  the  jubilee  ! 
Jubilee  !    jubilee  !     The  laud  is  free  from  sea  to  sea  ! 

in. 

Ring  the  bells  !     Toll  the  knells  ! 
O'er  the  braves  in  patriot  graves  ! 
O'er  the  bloody  strife  fields, 
O'er  the  captured  foe-shields ; 
Strike  the  slow  refrain  ; 
Ring  the  bells  again  ! 


OF  LJNCOL.N  —  OATH   OF  JOHNSON.         67 

Toll  the  knells  !     Ring  the  bells  ! 

Till  music  swells  o'er  hills  and  dells ; 

O'er  the  living,  o'er  the  slain — 

The  Lord  is  come  in  peace  to  reign ! 
Sing  the  song  that  all  are  free  !      Sing  the  song  of 

jubilee  ! 
Father  land  of  Liberty,  bless  the  Lord  !  it  all  is  free  ! 


DEATH  OF  LINCOLN  —  OATH  OF   JOHNSON. 

''The  King  is  dead  !"      "  Long  live  the  King  !" 

Has  been  full  often  sighed  and  sung  ; 
But  ne'er  did  death  such  sadness  bring 

To  a  whole  people,  old  and  young, 
As  the  assassin's  sudden  shot 

That  laid  our  great,  good  Lincoln  low, 
And  from  that  fratricidal  spot 

Sent  o'er  the  world  its  sound  of  woe  ! 
Yet,  as  the  Lord  hath  o'er  this  land, 

Through  peace  and  war,  through  calm  and  storm 
Assumed  a  kind  supreme  command, 

So  even  now  I  see  His  form 
Superior  to  all  seeming  ill, 

O'er  rule  the  frenzy  of  the  foe,  , 

(That  could  our  kindly  Chieftain  kill,) 

And  make  a  gladder  moral  g^low. 
To  martyr  our  Chief  Magistrate, 

As  if  to  take  the  Nation's  life, 
But  shows  the  horror  of  that  hate 

Which  caused  and  culminates  our  strife, 
And  leaves  the  Nation's  power  to  live 

Still  more  apparent  to  mankind  ; 
For  did  not  God  that  instant  give 

Another,  with  His  oath  to  bind 
The  Constitution  to  defend, 

And  execute  its  equal  laws  ? 


68  HASKEUVS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

Aye  ;  so  'twill  be  unto  the  end  ; 

The  King  of  Heaven  controls  our  cause. 
Though  Lincoln  's  dead,  the  Lord  still  lives  ! 

And  truly  as  God  lives  and  reigns, 
Who  a  new  President  now  gives, 

His  Sovereignty  our  laud  sustains, 
And  all  our  hopes  to  Him  we  turn 

In  both  our  grief  and  glad  belief, 
And  meekly  sing  the  while  we  mourn  : 

Our  Chief  is  dead  !      Long  live  our  Chief! 


FUNERAL  ODE   FOR   THE   OBSEQUIES  OF  ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

APRIL    19,    1865. 

With  awe  profound  thi»day, 
The  Nation  bows  to  pray 

In  utter  grief ; 

And  through  the  stricken  land 
The  broken-hearted  stand, 
And  mourn  on  every  hand 

Their  martyred  chief  ! 

The  Almighty  Ruler  hears 
His  sorrowing  people's  tears 

Fall  at  his  feet'; 
Makes  our  just  cause  His  care, 
Indites  and  hears  our  prayer, 
And  for  us  still  makes  bare 

His  mercy-seat. 

Our  sins  we  do  confess — 
O  God,  forgive  and  bless 

Our  bleeding  land, 
Till  all  the  world  shall  own 
That  here  Thy  law  is  known, 
And  Thine  the  only  throne 

That  here  can  stand. 


GARFIET.D'S   LAST   RIDE.  69 

To  Thee  we  must  appeal ; 
Our  impotence  we  feel, 

And  plead  Thy  power  ; 
Thine  aid  that  we  may  do 
What  to  mankind  is  true, 
What  to  thy  throne  is  due, 

Hence  from  this  hour. 

The  wounded,  wronged  and  grieved, 
All  by  the  sword  bereaved, 

Do  Thou  console. 
All  treason,  Lord,  suppress, 
All  loyal  subjects  bless, 
And  heal  our  sore  distress 

By  Thy  control ! 


GARFIELD'S  LAST  RIDE— TO  LONG  BRANCH. 

A  hero,  long  peerless  in  patience,  is  lying, 

And  fighting  on  daily  fierce  battles  for  life  ; 
For  sixty-five  days  he's  seemed  living  and  dying — 

His  strength  for  the  struggle,  the  chief  in  the  strife. 
He  had  fought  many  battles,  and  mastered  with  valor— 

With  poverty,  rebels,  political  foes — 
But  now  he  fights  "Death  on  his  pale  horse,"  and 
pallor, 

And  wasting  and  weakness  are  wonderful  woes  ! 

"One  chance  in  a  hundred"  have  heroes  oft  cherished, 
But  "  one  in  a  thousand"  is  a  different  thing  ; 

And  now  every  hope  in  ten  thousand  hath  perished 
But.  one — 'tis  removal,  as  if  on  the  wing, 

Where  the  breakers  may  roar  and  the  sea  breezes 

sing ; 
With  courage  undaunted  to  this  he  doth  cling. 

"  The  Federal  City"  lies  folded  in  beauty  ; 

The  night  hours  pass  cool  over  palace  and  cot ; 


70  HASKEXIVS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

The  watchers  and  doctors  a:  e  waiting  on  duty, 

Where  the  great  man,  the  good  man  is  waiting  his 
lot. 

Of  heroes  the  greatest,  with  Heavenly  graces, 

Chief  Magistrate,  chosen  of  Church  and  of  State, 
The  ruler  revered  of  all  realms  and  all  races, 

Now  fettered  in  weakness  is  waiting  his  fate  ; 
While   prayers   of   the    nation — all   nations— uphold 
him 

From  fainting  and  falling  in  death's  firm  embrace  ; 
A  wife's  love  and  faith,  too,  with  life  grasp  enfold 
him, 

As  fair  and  serene  as  the  sheen  on  her  face. 

The  westward  Moon  also  keeps  watch,  like  a  light- 
house 

Betokening  safety  to  some  tossing  bark, 
While  the  fringe  of  her  mantle  reflects  on  the  White 
House 

A  silvery  silence  from  shade  trees  and  park  ; 
And  now,  the  set  day  dawns,  ye  surgeons  and  nurses, 

For  gray-sandled  Morn  moves  in  sashes  of  gold  ; 
Her  fair  face  the  misty,  foul  miasm  disperses  ; 

Her  fond  arms  the  hero,  so  faint,  well  enfold. 

'Tis  the  hour  set  for  moving  "His  Excellence"  east- 
ward, 

Where  ocean's  pure  breezes  will  fan  his  fair  brow  ; 
And  the  whole  land  expectant  will  list  for  the  least 

word 

That  tells  of  his  journey,   each   movement,  and 
how  ; 

For  the   people  with  warm  hearts  in  chill  air  have 

waited 
All  night  near  to  see  him,  so  weighty  in  worth, 


GARFIELD'S  LAST  RIDE.  71 

Come  forth  on   his  couch  with  his   country's   hope 
freighted — 

A  life  the  most  honored  of  all  on  the  earth. 
The  pulse  of  their  hope,  even,  is  heard  in  its  beating, 

So  still  and  so  tender  have  stood  the  dense  crowd  ; 
From  the  hour  the  last  sun  was  in  silence  retreating, 

Not  a  voice  nor  a  footstep  is  heard  speaking  loud. 
Then  lift  him  up  tenderly,  lovingly,  carefully  ; 

Go  bring  him  down  stairways  with  brave,  steady 

hand, 

And  place  him  in  ambulance,  bare-browed  and  prayer- 
fully, 

For  he  is  beloved  through  all  the  broad  land ! 

Ye  grooms  lead  your  horses  now  gravely  and  slowly 
Along  the  smooth    pavement,    between   the  live 

mass 
Of  sympathy,  looking — in  high  life  and  lowly — 

And  watching  and  praying  as  ye  softly  pass  ; 
Let  all  in  attendance,  from  surgeon  to  valet, 

Be  kindness  itself  in  your  constancy's  care  ; 
The  President  must  rest  undisturbed  on  his  pallet, 
And  be  borne  like  a  bird  on  the  wings  of  your 

prayer. 
So  move  to  the  palace  car,  place  him  on  mattress 

hung 

As  if  upon  eagle's  wings  poising  in  air, 
While  "God  bless  him"  yearns  forth  from  the  old, 

fair  and  young — 
Nor  fear  the  assassin  can  follow  him  there  ! 

[The  one  pines  in  prison,  who,  once  proudly  dreaming 

He  could  render  immortal  his  miscreant  name, 
Would  murder  even  Garfield,  just  when  he  was  beam- 
ing 

With  life's  fullest  vigor  and  virtuous  fame  ; 
42 


72  HASKEUv'S  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

But  Guiteau  safely  dreams  of  dread  guerdons  assem- 
bled, 

And  fancies  the  people  are  plotting  his  fate ; 
All  night  long  h'ath  he  trodden  his  dark  cell  and 

trembled, 

And  now  he  peers  grim  through  his  iron-bound 
grate : 

"What  meaneth,"  he  saith,  "this  silent  commotion  ? 

I  fear  'tis  a  mob  that  will  tear  me  in  twain  !" — 
O,  long  let  him  dread  loyal  people's  devotion 

To  their  virtuous  Chieftain,  his  vice  would  have 
slain  !] 

Now  the  staunch  Locomotive  stands  light- winged  and 
steady, 

With  Engineer  Page  and  Conductor  on  hand  ; 
The  telegraph  ticks  that  "  the  train  is  all  ready," 

And  the  Country  responds  with  a  royal  command  : 
"Fly  on  !    noble  Engine,  like  rustle  of  angels  ; 

Fly  swiftly,  bear  safely  the  good  man  and  great  ; 
Let  reverent  people  flock  near  with  evangels 

From  station  to  station  and  State  unto  State  ; 
Let  the  elements  help,  Heaven's  behests  all  obeying, 

Assist,  speed  the  journey,  with  silence  and  joy, 
While   the  still  hours  proceed,  wherein  whole  States 
are  praying, 

And  the  distant  old  mother  sighs,  "God  bless  my 
boy  !" 

A  hero,  long  peerless  in  patience,  is  lying, 

In  the  beautiful  "  Cottage,"  built  close  by  the  sea, 

Where  doubtful  days  linger,  'twixt  living  and  dying, 
And  God  only  knows  what  is  going  to  be  ; 

But  the  good  man,  the  great  man,  who  hath  fought 

many  battles, 
Whose  will  fairly  won  every  war-ruffled  field, 


THE  WAKE   OF  WAR.  73 

Hears  the  shot  round  him  fall  like  the  rain  drops' 

faint  rattle, 
And  his  faith  shall  not  fail — for  that  faith  is   his 

shield— 

"One  chance  in  a  hundred"  have  heroes  oft  cher- 
ished ; 

Yet  "  one  in  a  thousand  "  's  a  different  thing  ; 
And  though  every  hope  in  ten  thousand  hath  perished 

But  one — Garfield's  faith,  that  is  folding  its  wing 
Where  the  breakers  may  roar  and  the  sea  breezes  sing  ; 
Still  to  this,  in  repose  our  hopes  prayerfully  cling. 


THE  WAKE   OF  WAR  :     A  RETROSPECT. 

(To  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic). 

A  vision  of  the  stern  and  solemn  past 

Arises  now  in  near  and  clear  review, 
And  every  war-scene,  from  the  first  to  last, 

Seems  leading  forth  the  old  to  freer  new. 

There  Joshua  out-generals  the  Old  World, 

Judeah  lends  to  Babylon  her  sway  ; 
There  Persian  hordes  against  the  Greeks  are  hurled, 

And  Alexander  bids  the  world  obey  ; 
There  royal  eagles  rise  above  the  scene, 

While  Roman  legions  conquer  distant  lands, 
And  peaceful  colonies  that  lie  between 

Are  seized  at  will  by  the  proud  Caesar's  hands. 

There  Goths  and  Vandals  and  Attilla's  Huns 

Make  havoc  with  the  hoarded  wealth  of  Rome, 
While  the  brave  Saxons  send  abroad  their  sons 

And  seize  Britannia  for  their  sea-girt  home  ; 
Thence  trans- Atlantic  trials  rise  at  length, 

And  our  New  World  as  the  arena  stands, 
Where  struggling  Freedom  first  put  forth  her  strength 

To  liberate  all  races  and  all  lands  ! 


74  HASKEXI/S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC.    * 

Here  our  brave  fathers  fought  on  Bunker  Hill, 

And  each  free  consecrated  battle-field, 
To  execute  for  Man  his  Maker's  will, 

As  in  the  "Golden  Rule  "  it  stands  revealed  ; 
Their  "  declaration  "  that  "  all  men  are  free 

And  equally  entitled  to  their  right 
Of  happiness,  of  life,  and  liberty," 

Was  the  Almighty's  will  in  moral  might. 

So  when  oppression  rose  in  rebel  arms 

To  tread  down  Freedom  where  the  fathers  trod, 
And  filled  all  lands  with  fierce  and  false  alarms, 

Then  good  men  fought  for  Freedom  and  for  God — 
For  Liberty  and  God  they  fought  and  fell 

As  Martyrs,  for  the  hopes  and  homes  of  men, 
While  others  flew  their  broken  ranks  to  swell, 

And  Gog-Magog  met  earth's  last  issue  then  ! 

Vast  legions  moved  for  God  and  Liberty  ; 

They  mingled  fiercely  in  the  moral  fight ; 
The  scene  extended  far  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  Heaven  bent  down   and  blessed  the  human 

right  ; 
Bent  o'er  our  Navy — barely  known  abroad— 

When  Winslow  watched  the  Anglo-rebel  craft, 
Till  with  "good  practice,"  and  with  prayer  to  God, 

He  crushed  the  criis-er,  and  Jehovah  laughed.* 

Then  Foote  and  Farragut  fought  fights  of  faith, 

And  with  God's  might  hushed  many  a  wicked  gun  ; 
While  Grant  and  Sherman  fought  on  like  grim  death, 

And  Lincoln  willed  the  Nation  free,  and  one. 
Heaven  blessed  the  soldiers,  and,  sealing  with  blood 

Their  holy  conquests  for  all  human  kind, 
Made  Freedom's  God-sent  "  declaration"  good, 

And  in  the  universal  heart  enshrined. 


*  Psalm  ii,  4. 


THE  DYING  EAGLE.  75 

Ye  Veteran  Warriors  !    who  your  victories  won 

To  bless  the  world,  where  rjrave  men  willing  bled, 
We  hail  the  scenes  where  such  high  deeds  so  done 

Endeared  alike  the  living  and  the  dead  ; 
And  as  ye  show  your  bruised  and  brought-back  shields, 

And  look  forth  on  the  loyal  flag  unfurled, 
That  waved  o'er  bivouacs  and  o'er  battle-fields, 

Behold  !    it  wafts  good  will  to  all  the  world  ! 

So  visions  of  the  stern  and  solemn  past 

Oft  rise  before  us  in  our  brief  review, 
And  every  war- scene,  from  the  first  to  last 

Leads  from  an  Old  World  to  a  freer  New  ! 


THE  DYING  EAGLE. 
OUR  NATIONAL  ENIGMA., 

(Suggested  by  the  Grand  Heroism  of  Gen.  Grant ;  written 
July  4,  A.  D.  1885.  Also  by  "Old  Abe,"  the  Wisconsin  eagle,  that 
died  about  the  same  date.) 

Upon  a  classic  mountain  in  Columbia's  land, 

There  sinks,  with  palsied  wing  and  panting  breath, 
A  patriot  eagle,  that  can  hardly  fly  or  stand, 

And  patient  waiteth  there  approaching  death  ! 
He  holdeth  still  the  "darts"  and  "olive  branch"  of 
peace, 

His  eyes  are  bright,  as  when,  o'er  battle-field 
He  bore  the  "Union  scroll  "  and  bade  rebellion  cease  ; 

And    on     his    breast    shines   still   the    burnished 
shield. 

His  cradle  nest  was  rocked  amid  the  ancient  forest 

trees 

Along  the  River  Beautiful,*  whose  banks, 
Enriched  by  fruits  and  flowers  and  song  of  birds  and 

bees, 

Saw  his  unfledged,  precocious  flights  and  pranks. 
*  Ohio. 


76  HASKEUVS   POEMS— PATRIOTIC. 

His  youth  was  passed  upon  the  rock-ribbed  Palisades, 
And   where    the    battle   hurled  o'er  Montezuma's 
hills, 

Till  the  glad  map  of  Mississippi's  everglades 
And  varied  fields,  again  his  vision  fills. 

Then,  o'er  the  Continent,  there  came  an  awful  thun- 
der-storm, 

So  dread,  indeed,  the  plains  and  mountains  shook  ; 
But  far  above  it  all,  I  saw  that  eagle's  form. 

And,  O,  how  loyal,  calm  and  grand  his  look  ! 
As  by  old  Zeus,  in  storms,  the  zealous  standard  stood 

Where  perched  Aquilla  o'er  the  powers  of  Rome, 
There,  by  Jehovah — God  of  hosts,  both  just  and  good — 

Soared  this  war  eagle,  as  if  Heaven  were  home. 

The  battling  storm  beat  past ;  He  bade  its  thunders 

cease  ; 

The  skies'  rough  billows  all  became  serene  ; 
And,  like  some  lofty  prince  of  liberty  and  peace, 
That  "  sovereign  bird  of  Jove  "  beheld  with  joy  the 

scene  ; 
Yea,  on  him  poured  down  Heaven's  divinest  peace  and 

light, 

As  hushed  battalions  his  behests  obeyed  ; 
And,  seated  soon  on  earth's  sublimest  sunlit  height, 
His  faithful  vision  the  full  sight  surveyed. 

Then  round  the  world  he  winged  his  more  than  royal 

way, 

And  hasting  homeward  in  rich  haunts  to  rest, 
Where,  swift  of  wing,  his  followers  hold  their  Heaven- 
born  sway, 

He,  in  new  eyries  built  on  high  his  nest. 
But  treacherous  winds  there  pierced  and  troubled  his 

repose, 
Plundered  his  pleasure  in  his  resting  place, 


THE   CENTENNIAL   BELLS   OF   '7(5.  77 

And   want    came    threatening    him    with    countless 

thrilling  woes, 

Half  grudging,  even,  his  wings  and  Heaven-ward 
grace. 

A  viper,  too,  with  which  he'd  vainly  whiled  his  hours 

Unconscious  of  its  startling  secret  sting, 
Now  seized  his  throat  with  sudden  throttling  powers — 

Nor  dares  one  think  how  direful  is  the  thing  !  * 
Aye,  soon,  alas  !  his  transient  life  seems  to  trembling 
hang 

Upon  his  neck  like  pearls  and  lucid  gold  ; 
While  fierce  within  he  feels  the  viper's  wicked  fang, 

And  naught  but  death  can  ease  its  deadly  hold  ! 

Thus  smitten  in  his  rest,  he  sought  that  summit  there, 

Whereon  in  pain  and  peace  to  die  and  sleep  ; 
While  Continents  look  on  with  tender,  loving  care, 

And  children  wait  around  to  watch  and  weep  ! 
The  lesson  of  his  life,  to  those  that  love  to  live, 

Is  touching  to  the  very  last  extreme  ; 
Though  given  to  him  the  highest  Earth  ever  had  to 
give, 

He  dictates  truly,  "  Life's  a  troubled  dream." 


THE   CENTENNIAL  BELLS   OF   '76. 

A  continental  custom  is 

To  toll  o'er  dying  years. 
The  bells  in  proof  of  their  demise, 

Until  the  New  appears, 
And  then  to  ring  the  rapid  peals, 

Of  joy  and  childish  mirth, 
Just  as  the  New  with  winged  heels, 

Comes  hastening  o'er  the  earth. 


*  Grant's  cancer  of  the  throat  is  supposed  to  have  been  in- 
duced by  excessive  smoking  of  cigars. 


HASKELUS   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

The  bells  that  toll  the  old  yearsout, 

Do  thus  ring  in  the  new, 
And  as  a  jaded  one  clears  out, 

We  hear  the  tramp  of  two ; 
For  when  they  at  the  portal  meet, 

The  old  makes  haste  away  ; 
The  new  comes  in  with  nimble  feet 

And  brings  its  natal  day. 

But  why  should  lanterned  sextons  climb 

From  beds  to  belfries  high, 
And  in  this  very  "nick  of  time" 

Peal  pondrous  minstrelsy  ? 
And  why  should  all  the  bells  invade 

The  silent  midnight  hour, 
When  earth  is  wrapt  in  frost  and  shade, 

And  sleep  is  in  full  power? 

What  can  the  wide-spread  racket  mean, 

When  "God  gives  loved  ones  sleep" — 
Thus  to  disturb  both  cot  and  queen 

And  aye  the  custom  keep  ? 
'Tis  but  to  wake  the  sleepers,  well 

To  count  the  course  of  years — 
And  by  this  pulse  to  thought  expel 

With  better  hopes  their  fears  ! 

Then  let  all  peoples  peal  their  bells, 

Toll  out,  ring  in  the  years — 
Till  even  here  their  music  swells, 

Joy  superseding  tears — 
Till  tolling,  ringing — sighing,  singing, 

Commingle  accents  still ; 
For  each  successive  age  is  bringing 

Earth  more  of  good  than  ill ! 

Yes,  yes,  ring  in  our  jubilee  ! 
Our  bright  Centennial — 


THOSE  CENTURY  BELLS.  79 

Which-  ancient  sages  longed  to  see, 

And  prophets  did  foretell  ; 
Let  cannon  roar  and  bonfires  blaze 

And  banners  wave  in  air, 
Till  Rocky  Mountains  ring  with  praise 

And  Heaven  inhales  our  prayer  ! 
DENVER,  COLO.,  Dec.  30,  n  p.  M.,  1875. 


THOSE   CENTURY   BELLS. 

(January  i,  A.  D.  1876). 

I. 
O  did  ye  not  hear  them — those  Century  bells  ! 

When  tolling  at  midnight  the  death  of  the  past, 
And  sending  o'er  cities,  and  mountains,  and  dells 

Their  voices  so  solemn  and  message  so  vast? 
From  coast  unto  coast  onward  crowded  their  wave 

Of  requiem — rolling  and  tolling  along — 
As  old  years  were  garnered  down  in  their  cold  grave 

All  sacred  with  memories,  and  story  and  song  ! 

II. 
Old  dynasties,  laid  out,  lamented  and  dead, 

Seemed  borne  in  procession  with  burdened  refrain  ; 
Their  children,  left  cheerless  and  chanceless,  were  led 

To  old  fields  of  conflict,  or  far  o'er  the  main, 
To  wilderness'  depths  as  the  "  Lord's  sons  and  daugh- 
ters," 
Where  loud  sounding  billows  seemed  lashing  the 

shore, 

And  wild  winds  of  winter  with  voice  like  great  waters, 
Wailed  o'er  them  as  waifs  from  the  war  scenes  of 
yore. 

in. 

The  New  World,  awaked,  sat  in  waiting  attire ; 

Her  wilderness  welcomed  these  wanderers  to  toil ; 
But  savage  men  watched  them  with  war  clubs  and 
fire, 

And  spirits  of  darkness  their  fortunes  would  spoil ; 

43 


80  HASKELL'S    POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

While  king-craft  and  customs  far  back  o'er  the  seas — 
Which   sometimes,   like   Israel,  their   soul   lusted 
for— 

Stood  cringing  and  clamoring  to  them  for  stout  fees 
To  furnish  their  sovereigns  with  sinews  of  war. 

IV. 

And  tyrants,  tormenting  their  faith  and  their  fears, 

Stood  forging  new  fetters  fit  only  for  knaves, 
And  by  exacting  tribute,  exhausted  the  years 

In  oppressing  their  subjects  to  abjects  and  slaves, 
Till  the  dread  peals  of  war  resounded  again 

And  the  stout  hearts  of  Pilgrims  beat  time  with 

their  breath, 

Till  the  bold  sons  of  Freedom   sent  back  o'er  the 
main  : 

"As  for  me,  give  me  liberty  !  or  give  me  death  !" 

v. 
Then  Hancock,  and  Adams,  and  Warren  stood  forth 

As  defiant  as  death  in  the  cannon's  dark  mouth  ; 
And  the  Putnams  and  Greenes,  and  the  Starks  of  the 

North 
Joined  hands  with  the  Sumpters  and  Lees  of  the 

South, 

Till  the  bells  and  the  bonfires  and  booming  of  guns 
Bore  away  foul  dismay  far  beyond  dread  and  fear, 
Till  we  felt,  aye,  and  saw  Faith  was  sending  her  sous, 
Both  the  Church  and  the  State,  to  establish  and 
cheer. 

VI. 

And  over  the  ocean  and  down  through  the  air, 

Came  visions  and  voices  earth  can  not  forget ; 
For  the   oppressed   of    all    races   were   prostrate   in 

prayer, 

And    their  prayers    prompted    princes,   like   pure 
Lafayette 


CENTENNIAL  HYMN   OF  1876.  81 

And  Baron  De  Kalb,  Count  Pulaski — the  Pole — 

Who  cast  in  their  lives  from  keen  love  of  our  cause, 
Till  our  Nation  grew  strong  with  their  greatness  of 

soul, 

And  stood  large  as  life  with   both  standard  and 
laws. 

VII. 

Then  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  of  Freedom  arose, 

And  went  with  the  great  and  the  good  Washington, 
Who  conquered  a  peace  from  the  proudest  of  foes, 

And  uniting  the  States  made  "of  many  one." 
So  we  honor  the  scenes  and  the  eulogies  said, 

When  we  gaze  at  the  grave  of  the  century  gone 
And  ponder  the  deeds  of  the  century  dead, 

Since  our  Independence  arose  to  the  dawn  ! 


CENTENNIAL   HYMN  OF    l8?6. 
NO.    1. 

(An  Impromptu.) 

Behold  the  years  and  ages  roll 

Adown  Time's  ceaseless  surging  tide,     . 
Beyond  all  power  of  man's  control 

For  God  omnipotent  is  guide  ; 
And  as  the  tide  of  time  rolls  on, 

A  century  comes,  a  century  goes, 
He  fills  the  eras,  one  by  one, 

With  the  best  gifts  His  bounty  knows  ! 

Above  the  storm,  above  the  cloud, 

Jehovah's  will  reveals  His  way, 
And  with  His  voice  that  thunders  loud, 

Commands  the  nations — all  obey  ! 
Then  let  this  Nation  laud  His  sway, 

Her  people  throng  His  courts  with  joy, 
With  faith  and  fear  praise  Him  and  pray  : 

He  can  defend,  and  can  destroy  ! 


HASKELL'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

A   CENTENNIAL  THANKSGIVING. 
NO.    2. 

Great  source  of  good,  the  Giver 

Of  life  and  light  and  air, 
Whose  being  is  forever — 

Whose  presence  everywhere — 
From  age  to  age  Thou  reignest 

O'er  countless  worlds  afar  ; 
And  yet  to  us  Thdu  deignest 

To  hear  our  praise  and  prayer. 

There's  not  a  house  of  sorrow, 

There's  not  a  heart  of  sin, 
But  may  some  solace  borrow 

From  scenes  where  Thou  hast  been 
And  every  precious  blessing, 

In  this  propitious  year, 
Is  now  Thy  love  confessing 

To  fill  the  land  with  cheer. 

"The  gentle  Heavens  are  bending" 

O'er  those  who  suffer  wrong, 
And  everywhere  ascending 

Is  heard  Thy  people's  song  ; 
From  ocean  unto  ocean, 

O'er  mountains,  hills  and  plains, 
In  grateful,  glad  devotion  : 
"Rejoice,  Jehovah  reigns  !" 

Regard,  then,  our  Thanksgiving, 

For  all  Thy  mercies  past ; 
For  Liberty  still  living, 

For  hopes  that  long  shall  last ; 
For  aid  in  every  station, 

For  rights  of  every  race — 
Let  grateful  exultation 

Bring  mercy,  peace  and  grace  ! 


CENTENNIAL  HYMN.  83 

A  NEW  BORN  STAR*  —  THE  CENTENNIAL  STATE. 
NO.   3. 

(An  Impromptu,  July  4,  4  a.  m.,  1876.) 
I. 

Thirty-seven  stars  were  shining  in  the  Nation's  azure 
sky, 

With  their  royal  rays  combining  like  the  sweetest 
minstrelsy, 

When  above  the  Rocky  Mountains  rose  a  most  reful- 
gent gem, 

Ivifted  from  light's  living  fountains  into  Freedom's 
diadem, 

Now   the   Nation's   pulse    beats   fuller,    quicker  this 
quadrennial, 

For  she  still  elects  her  ruler  in  her  proud  Centennial, 

And  her  people  of  all  races,  with  united  care   and 
prayer 

Turn  their  faces  in  all  places  to  behold  his  rising  star  ! 

II. 
And  toward  this  the  Eastern  Magi,  and  the  North,  the 

South,  the  West, 
With  the  reverence  of  a  rabbi,  bend  their  longing  to 

be  blessed, 
While  around  it  sing  in  chorus  all  the  thirty-seven 

stars  ; 
And  the  Future,  bending  o'er  .ns,  hails  the  Past,  its 

crowns  and  scars. 
And  the  greetings  of  all  nations  rise,  as  if  one  loud 

huzzah, 
In  glad  waves  of  exultation,  "Freedom  wears  an  other 

star!" 
And  it  sheds  its  first  resplendence  on  our  Freedom's 

natal  morn, 
A  new  star  of  Independence,  "The  Centennial  State 

is  born  !" 


*  This  star  was  not  yet  in  the  flag  till  the  next  year. 


84  HASKELL'S  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

CENTENNIAL   THANKS,    NOV.    30,    1876. 

NO.   4. 

I. 

We  are  met,  our  Heavenly  Father,  in  Thy  holy  courts 

to-day, 
Prompted  by  Thy  many  mercies,  here  to  praise  Thee 

and  to  pray  ; 
On    the  wings   of  faith   and   fervor,    we    ascend    to 

Heaven's  gate, 
To  repeat  Thy  precious  blessings  on  ourselves  and  on 

the  State. 
Thro'  the  year  the  Lord  hath  led  us,  He  hath  given 

our  daily  bread  ; 
And  the  hand  that  led  and  fed  us,  hath  the  Nation's 

table  spread, 
.As  with  plenty  waved  the  harvests,  on  the  hills  and 

on  the  plains, 
And  filled  full  the  world's  great  store-house  with  the 

fruitage  and  the  grains. 

n. 
Rich  Centennial  memories  meet  us,  and  the  throngs 

the  prophets  saw 
Come  from  far,  like  clouds,  to  greet  us,  and  fulfill  His 

holy  law, 
Till  the  mingling  of  all  races,  seems  so  like  to  that 

above, 

It  hath  left  on  earth's  high  places  proofs  of  Provi- 
dence and  love. 
And  such  is  the  Savior's  presence,  to  restrain,  refresh 

and  cheer, 

That  we  see  His  Bethlehem  angels  breathe  their  bless- 
ings, even  here  ; 
"  Glory  be  to  God  the  highest ;  peace  on  earth,  good 

will  to  men  !" 
And  Thou,  Lord,  in  love  repliest :  "I  have  blessed, 

will  bless  again  !" 


KEY  NOTE  FOR  THE  CONTINENT.        85 
III. 

In  this  hope,  great  God,  we  seek  Thee  ;  for  ourselves, 

our  country  pray  ; 
Let  the  people  fear  and  praise  Thee,  let  the  nations 

own  Thy  sway  ; 
Let  their  blood-bought  rights  of  freedom  be  all  kept 

with  grateful  care, 
In  remembrance  of  the  fathers  ;  in  repeated  lives  of 

prayer  ! 
God  and  Savior,  gracious  Sovereign,  hear  and  help  us 

while  we  sing ; 
By  Thy   presence   ever   precious,   be  our    "Prophet 

Priest  and  King!" 
Through  Thy  death  and  intercession,   through    Thy 

Holy  Spirit's  grace, 
Consecrate  this    Christian    Nation,    and  enfranchise 

every  race  ! 


"COLORADO'S  KEY  NOTE  FOR  THE  CONTINENT." 

By  a  clause  in  the  new  Constitution  Colorado's  Legislature, 
elected  October  3,  1876,  had  to  choose  the  Presidential  electors  for 
that  quadrennial,  hence  the  people  gave  their  first  vote  for  Pres- 
ident a  full  month  before  the  rest  of  the  Republic,  and  by  that 
vote  made  Rutherford  B.  Hayes  President.  On  learning  that  a 
Republican  Legislature  was  elected,  the  author  impromptued  the 
following, 

AS   A   KEY   NOTE   FOR   THE   CONTINENT. 


As  when  the  sun,  with  bended  rays, 

First  gilds  the  loftiest  peaks  with  light, 
And  ushers  in  the  auspicious  days, 

That  lead  the  van  of  truth  and  right, 
So  Freedom's  banners  float  above 

The  heights  of  the  Republic  now, 
And,  like  the  symbols  of  God's  love, 

Shed  beauty  on  the  mountain's  brow. 


86  HASKEl.Iv'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

II. 

So  Colorado's  key  notes  sound 

Across  the  Continent  so  clear, 
That  all  the  States  stand  listening  round, 

Her  salutations  first  to  hear  ; 
And  as  they  hear  mankind  takes  heart  ; 

The  morning  stars  mingle  their  song  ; 
The  new-born  State  bears  noble  part, 

And  gives  her  voice  'gainst  vice  and  wrong  ! 

in. 
She  leads  the  van  ;  she  casts  her  vote 

A  month  before  the  time,  indeed — 
And  gives  the  National  key  note 

In  just  the  Nation's  time  of  need  ; 
And  as  a  signal  star  she  stands 

Above  the  mountains  bright  and  clear, 
A  harbinger  of  distant  lands  ; 

She  haloes  the  Centennial  year  ! 

IV. 

O  tell  us,  how  could  such  a  star, 

The  last  and  loftiest  of  the  States, 
But  shed  her  beauteous  light  afar, 

And  beckon  men  toward  Bethlehem's  gates, 
Thence  echo  still :  "Peace  and  good  will, 

And  glory  in  the  highest  strain," 
Till  every  mountain,  plain  and  hill 

Resound  :  "  Let  Right  forever  reign  !" 

v 
Let  all  the  trophies  of  the  past, 

For  which  the  fathers,  brothers  died, 
Ba  treasured  where  they  best  will  last — 

The  Nation's  honor,  wealth  and  pride  ; 
Let  trait'rous  treason  try  in  vain 

To  trail  the  banners  of  the  free, 
And  forge  again  the  bond-man's  chain 

Beneath  the  tret  of  Liberty  ! 


THE   THIRTY-EIGHTH  STAR.  87 

VI. 

This  is  the  voice  that  star  doth  speak, 

Responsive  to  the  State  of  Maine  ;  * 
And  from  each  glory-lighted  peak 

We  hear  her  glad  and  loud  refrain  : 
Ho,  all  ye  States  !    we  send  good  cheer  ! 

And  as  to  Heaven  our  hands  we  raise, 
We  bid  you,  this  memorial  year, 

Vote  all  for  Freedom  and  for  Hayes  ! 


TO  THE  THIRTY-EIGHTH   STAR,   THE  FLAG,   AND  THE    SHIP 
OF   STATE,   JULY  4,    1877. 

Colorado  was  admitted  the  latter  part  of  1876,  as  the  Centen. 
nial  State,  but  according  to  law  its  star  could  not  appear  on  the 
flag  till  the  following  Fourth  of  July.  Hence  this  public  cele- 
bration again  on  that  day  in  1887,  at  which  the  following  poem 
was  read  : 

I. 
In  this  climax  of  the  ages, 

On  these  heights  above  the  plain, 
Listening  to  the  voice  of  sages, 

Sending  down  their  glad  refrain 
From  their  heights  of  Heavenly  glory, 

Where  they  sit  in  glad  array, 
Telling  now  the  goodly  story 
Of  our  Freedom's  gala  day  ; 

In  this  hour  of  patriot  fervor, 

When  Columbia  sits  a  Queen, 
And,  from  sea  so  sea,  observer 

Of  what  is  from  what  has  been, 
We  may  well  turn  back  the  pages 

And  recount  what  it  has  cost 
Both  the  ages  and  the  sages 

To  bring  out  "The  Day  We  Boast." 

L/o  !  an  ancient  form,  appearing 

With  his  locks  and  vesture  white — 


*  Maine  elected  a  Republican  Governor  also  in  October. 
44 


88  HASKELIv'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

A  Recording  Angel,  wearing 

Robes  of  Heaven's  eternal  light- 
Comes  the  sagely  soul  of  History  ; 

And  he  sits  down-  at  your  side 
To  unlock  the  lids  of  mystery, 

And  proclaim  the  country's  pri  "e. 

And  he  seems  so  like  the  Sovereign 

Of  both  Heaven  and  Earth  to  say, 
What  the  present  is  recovering 

From  the  past  for  promised  day, 
That  he  sits  a  Seer  beside  you, 

And  repeats  prophetic  lore, 
Which  through  coming  years  can  guide  you, 

Until  "Time  shall  be  no  more." 

He  proclaims,  with  rare  precision, 

Our  new  name — "Of  many  one  !" 
And  unveils  Ezekiel's  vision 

Of  the  living  wheels'that  run 
In  one  grander  wheel,  where  voices 

Are  resounding  all  abroad  : 
"The  New  Heaven  and  Earth  "  rejoices  ; 
*        "These  are  kings  and  priests  to  God  !" 

Thus,  "he  gathers  from  all  nations  " 

Those  well  crowned  with  self-control. 
Offering  unto  God  oblations 

From  each  loyal,  loving  soul ; 
And  the  scene  has  such  resplendence 

That  he  writes  above  it  all — 
"Freedom!"     "Union!"     "Independence!" 
"Equal  rights  for  great  and  small !" 

There  he  sits — that  form  so  ancient — 

Most  majestic  in  his  mien, 
And  old  empires — always  transient  — 

He  calls  up  upon  the  scene  ; 


THE  THIRTY-EIGHTH   STAR.  89 

And  each  age  and  sage  contribute 

To  this  era's  real  renown, 
Till  the  ages  all  exhibit 

Offerings  for  our  Freedom's  crown. 


n. 
Just  one  century  since,  said  Congress — 

"Let  there  thirteen  stripes  appear, 
And  their  thirteen  stars  confess, 
In  a  sky  both  blue  and  clear, 
That  the  States  are  now  United 
In  a  band  of  hope  and  love  ; 
And  their  path  be  henceforth  lighted 
By  the  bending  heavens  above. ' ' 

So,  one  hundred  years  have  vanished 
Since  the  glorious  Stripes  and  Stars 

Rose  as  bidden,  with  light  replenished, 
From  the  fiery  fields  of  Mars, 

And  first  lit  the  celebration 
Of  our  Freedom's  natal  day, 

Leading  thence  the  infant  nation 
Up  to  manhood's  mighty  sway. 

On  this  Hundredth  Day  's  admitted 

To  that  bending  sky  of  blue, 
Our  Centennial  Star,  so  fitted 

To  enhance  its  radiant  hue  ; 
And  in  honor  of  its  advent 

We  present  our  meed  of  song, 
And  proclaim  its  proud  ascent 

Now  among  that  dazzling  throng. 

Hail !    all  hail  !  bright  star  of  beauty, 
Made  by  law  to-day  to  shine 

As  the  latest  lamp  of  duty, 
In  that  symbol  so  divine  ! 


90  HASKEUYS   POEMS -PATRIOTIC. 

Rise  and  shine  !  shine  most  resplendent ! 

With  a  pure  and  perfect  light ; 
Keep  the  truth  in  the  ascendant — 

True  to  man,  to  God  and  right ! 

Then  that  banner's  brighter  shining 

For  its  new  and  noble  star 
Shall  appear  still  more  combining 

Light  and  life  for  lands  afar. 
Noble  ensign  of  the  Nation, 

Signal  hope  for  all  distressed  ! 
Shed  thy  light,  like  revelation, 

O'er  the  world,  and  make  it  blest. 

in. 

I  steamed  once  to  Constantinople,     . 

When  a  full-rigged  ship  sailed  by, 
At  whose  mast-head,  bright  as  an  opal, 

Flew  that  signet  in  the  sky. 
Like  a  marine  Alexander, 

Mid  his  sailors,  fore  and  aft, 
Stood  the  Christian  ship-commander 

Who  quite  oft  Heaven's  dews  had  quaffed. 

I  stood  on  a  Turkish  steamer 

And  cheered  loud  that  ensign  there, 
Till  the  sky  seemed  turned  to  tremor 

With  huzzahs  upon  the  air  ; 
For  they  all,  with  accent  expert, 

Answered  thrice  my  three  times  three, 
In  a  most  consummate  concert, 

Joined  in  foreign  jubilee. 

Scanning,  stood  a  Scotch  Professor, 

Setting  down  the  novel  scene, 
And  he  said :  "Grand  ship  !     God  bless  her  ! 

Bless  the  Captain,  flag,  and  men  !  " 


THE;  THIRTY-EIGHTH  STAR.  91 

So  our  Ship  of  State  is  sailing 

Upon  Time's  most  peaceful  sea, 
And  its  ensign  we  are  hailing 

'Mid  the  Nation's  jubilee. 

IV. 

Look  ye  on  it,  there,  I  pray  you ! 

Mark  the  sea,  the  ship,  the  man  ! 
With  their  ensign,  and  then  say  you 

Are  they  not  complete  in  plan  ? 
What  a  sea  !  this  age  of  ages  ; 

Broad,  and  deep,  and  calm,  and  free  ; 
Can  you  find  on  history's  pages 

Ever  such  another  sea  ? 

What  a  ship — of  grand  proportions — 

And  full  freighted !     See  her  prow 
Plow  the  waves  of  placid  oceans, 

And  her  master's  orders  now 
Are  still  clear  as  storied  clarion 

Waking  up  a  waiting  world  ; 
Bold  and  manly  like  brave  Marion, 

Bre  that  flag  was  first  unfurled. 

Justice  and  wise  Legislation, 

With  well  Executed  law, 
Rig  the  best  three-masted  Nation 

Time's  old  Ocean  ever  saw : 
Then,  three  cheers  for  that  grand  vessel ; 

Hail,  Columbia,  fair  and  free  ! 
Long  be  she  preserved  from  evil, 

Ark  of  Christian  Liberty. 

Cheer,  also,  the  sailing  master,, 

A  proud  people's  President ; 
May  he  sail  both  safer,  faster 

In  the  way  the  fathers  went. 


92  HASKICU/S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

Calmly,  firmly  he  is  guiding, 

With  cool  wisdom  to  command  ; 

Let  there  be  no  chafing,  chiding, 
For  he's  tiding  o'er  the  strand 

The  most  costly  ship  and  cargo 

Bver  sailed  Time's  varying  sea  ; 
And  we'll  brook  no  base  embargo 

On  this  ship  of  destiny. 
Rise  ye  men,*  in  royal  manner, 

With  an  upraised  heart  and  hand, 
Lift  three  cheers  in  loud  hozanna 
To  the  Captain,  Ship  and  Banner 

Of  Columbia  !     Happy  Land  ! 


WASHINGTON'S  BIRTH  AND  BENEDICTION. 

(Written  Feb.  22,  1876.) 

George  Washington,  the  Father  of  his  Country;  born  Feb. 
22,  1732,  of  Mary,  wife  of  Augustine  Washington;  became  com- 
mander oLthe  revolutionary  army  June  14,  1775  to  Dec.  4,  1783, 
and  afterwards  served  his  country  eight  years,  as  her  first  Presi- 
dent; at  the  end  of  which  time,  his  farewell  words  seemed 
almost  divinely  inspired. 

Proud  was  the  day,  deserving  praise, 
When  he  who  led  the  holy  morn 
Of  this  Republic's  rising  days 

Was  to  our  bounteous  manor  born, 
And  who  but  feels  the  bosom  swell 

Of  "  Mary,  Mother  of  Washington," 
When  first  upon  her  fond  ears  fell 
The  accents  of  her  infant  Son. 

Well  did  the  Sire,  with  seerlike  joy, 
Select  Saint  George's  sacred  name, 

And,  with  the  Mother,  wish  their  boy 
To  lead  the  Country's  life  and  fame? 

*The  Denver  assembly  rose  to  the  occasion  and  gave  three 
times  three,  like  the  tars  on  the  Turkish  sea. 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON'S    BIRTH.  93 

For  such  presentiments  found  place, 
Like  prophesies  that  loud  proclaimed 

A  Revolution  for  the  race, 

In  which  new  nations  should  be  named. 

So  this  high  leader,  led  of  Heaven, 

A  cause  of  Providential  care, 
Has  o'er  his  youth  good  Angels  given, 

To  aid  unseen  in  silent  air  ; 
And  when  he  faced  at  length  the  foe, 

And  led  our  forces  on  the  field, 
The  bending  Heavens  did  o'er  him  bow 

And  shine  as  helmet,  hope  and  shield. 

And  when  that  field  was  fully  won, 

And  peace  and  plenty  were  restored, 
Then  grand  he  stood  !  "  Great  Washington  !" 

And  heartfelt  praises  on  him  poured  ! 
So,  too,  with  majesty  serene, 

He  still  surveyed  his  ransomed  States, 
And  with  solicitudes  unseen, 

Well  on  the  public  welfare  waits. 

Then,  when  "the  Fundamental  Law" 

Gave  pledge  of  long  life  to  the  land, 
He  still  stood  forth,  in  stately  awe, 

Born  yet  his  country  to  command  ; 
Sublimity  herself  sat  by, 

As  in  his  first  Inaugural, 
He  blessed  our  Chief  Magistracy ; 

And  then,  at  last,  in  his  " Farewell." 


94  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

HIS    INAUGURAL   AND   ITS   CENTENNIAL. 

(  April  30,  1789— April  30,  1889.) 

When  Washington  was  inaugurated  the  first  American 
President,  he  offered  the  following  prayer:  "  May  the  Almighty 
Being,  who  governs  the  universe  and  presides  in  the  counsels 
of  nations,  and  whose  providential  aids  can  supply  every  human 
defect,  consecrate  to  the  liberties  and  happiness  of  the  people  of 
the  United  States  a  government  instituted  by  themselves  for 
these  essential  purposes,  and  enable  every  instrument  employed 
in  its  administration  to  execute  with  success  the  duties  allotted 
to  his  charge."  "Thus,  supported  by  a  firm  trust  in  the  Great 
Arbiter  of  the  universe,  aided  by  the  collected  wisdom  of  the 
Union,  and  imploring  the  Divine  Benediction  on  our  joint  exer- 
tions in  the  service  of  our  country,"  he  "readily  engaged  with 
others  in  the  arduous  but  pleasing  task  of  attempting  to  make 
a  nation  happy." 

'Twas  well  our  Country's  Father  led 

The  Nation  in  this  noble  prayer ; 
For  so  he  speaketh  yet,  though  dead, 

And  blends  with  ours  God's  boundless  care. 
'Twere  better  still  to  have  the  State, 

In  answer  to  his  own  request, 
Upon  Eternal  Wisdom  wait, 

And  with  unerring  wisdom  blessed  ! 

'Twas  grand!  when  the  first  President 

Thus  bowed  before  Jehovah's  throne  ! 
'Tis  grander  now  !  This  continent 

From  sea  to  sea  that  act  doth  own  ; 
And  every  heart  ascends  to  Heaven 

In  supplications  such  as  his, 
That  all  the  future  may  be  given 

Fulfillment  of  his  prophesies ! 

What  forecast  filled  the  country  then  ? 

What  notions  hath  the  Nation  now  ? 
What  immense  hopes  have  sons  of  men, 

As  by  this  morn  to  Heaven  they  bow, 


INAUGURAL    HYMNS.  95 

And  consecrate  our  country  still 

To  human  happiness  and  peace, 
To  God's  allwise  and  guiding  will, 

In  Christian  longings  large  increase  ? 

A  praying  Nation  is  preserved 

And  prospered  in  its  earnest  prayers  ; 
Its  character  is  so  conserved 

As  to  affect  its  future  heirs, 
And  give  to  them  that  growth  in  grace 

Which  makes  the  land,  both  great  and  grand,. 
To  raise  and  bless  each  blending  race 

In  states  united  e'er  to  stand. 

God's  trinity  of  governing  truths, 

His  law  and  gospel  well  applied, 
Is  training  yet  our  trusty  youths, 

As  God's  their  guardian,  and  their  guide. 
If  Presidents  pronounce  their  oath 

And  ask  for  good,  "So  help  me  God!" 
They  blend  our  help  and  Heaven  both, 

Ensure  the  country  constant  growth 
And  build  our  hopes  both  high  and  broad ! 


INAUGURAL   HYMNS. 

(April  30,  1889.) 

These  several  hymns  for  this  Executive  Centennial  were  pub- 
lished in  different  journals  the  same  day,  so  their  similarity  did 
not  seem  unsuitable. 

No.  1. —  Jubilate.     7  a.  m. 

I. 

A  Century  victorious  in  onward  strife  hath  gone  , 
But  opened  one  more  glorious  on  this  auspicious  dawn, 
And  to  this  opening  glad  year  with  bang  of  bells  and 

gun, 

It   leaves   this  word   of  good    cheer:    God  gave  us. 
Washington  ! 

45 


96  HASKELL'S    POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

II. 

Our  fathers'  land  's  before  us,  expansive,  bright  and 

free  ; 

Our  fathers'  God  's  still  o'er  us,  to  guard  its  liberty, 
And  purposes  to  save  still,  as  ever  he  hath  done, 
By  patriotic  brave  will,  and  now  gives  Harrison  ! 

in. 

'Tis  thus  Jehovah  reigneth,  "  let  all  theearth  rejoice  !" 
His  righteousness  remaineth  ;  O  listen  to  His  voice  ; 
And  praise  Him  all  ye  people  for  blessings  of  the  past, 
For  bounties  yet  more  ample,  and  promises  more  vast. 

IV. 

Sing  praises  ;  all  sing  praises  !  and  mingle  song  with 

prayer ; 

For  God  with  gladness  raises  His  shout  in  all  the  air, 
With  voice  like  many  waters,  He  saith  to  all  the  land  : 
"Join  all  ye  sons  and  daughters,  exult  in  Heaven's 

command !" 

v. 
Hark  !    Now  the  bells  are   ringing !    Mark  how  the 

cannon  boom ! 
Hear  !    The  hills  and  vales  are  singing  !     For  sadness 

there  's  no  room  ! 
There   is  no   room   for  sadness,    among  our  patriot 

throngs  ; 
Then  sing  and  shout  for  gladness  ;    swell  high  the 

Nation's  songs. 

VI. 

O  hear  the  people's  praises  !    Repeat  the  glad  refrain  ! 

For  Freedom  her  voice  raises,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
land  and  main, 

Thank  Heaven,  high  Heaven,  for  hopes  that  Harrison 

Will  have  the  same  help  given  that  guided  Washing- 
ton ! 


INAUGURAL   HYMNS.  97 

No.  2.— 9  a.  m.     At  general  prayer  meetings.. 
I. 

Convened,  great  God,  at  Thy  command, 

To  hold  communion  here  with  Thee 
Upon  the  future  of  this  laud, 

And  lessons  of  the  century, 
Permit  us  to  behold  Thy  face — 

So  much  as  finite  mortals  may — 
The  wonders  of  Thy  will  to  trace, 

The  accents  of  Thy  voice  obey. 


Thou  wast,  indeed,  our  fathers'  God, 

And  wilt  be,  also,  of  our  heirs  ; 
AVe  trace  the  footsteps  Thou  hast  trod, 

And  feel  Thy  presence  in  our  prayers 
And,  looking  on  the  mighty  past, 

We  call  before  us  future  years, 
And  on  Thy  sovereign  purpose  cast 

The  boundless  prospect  that  appears. 

in. 
[Although  our  costly  Ship  of  State 

Has  often  tossed  on  troubled  seas, 
And  masters  trembled  for  her  fate, 

Distrusting  even  Thy  kind  decrees  ; 
There  has  stept  forth  amid  the  storm 

Supreme,  majestic,  drawing  near,  . 
A  Savior's  superhuman  form, 

Inspiring  hope,  allaying  fear.] 

IV. 

Taught  by  our  first  President 

The  precepts  of  Thy  providence 

Through  troublous  days  of  discontent, 
We  prize  our  rich  inheritance 


98  HASKELI/S  POEMS  -PATRIOTIC. 

For  what  it  cost,  for  what  it's  worth — 
»  We  consecrate  it  all  to  Thee, 

To  shed  Thy  radiance  o'er  the  earth 
In  righteous  laws  and  liberty  ! 


So  learning  lessons  from  the  past, 

And  living  for  all  coming  years, 
Upon  Thy  purposes  we  cast 

Our  grandest  hopes,  our  greatest  fears, 
And  swell  the  anthems  of  Thy  praise 

From  lakes  to  gulf,  from  sea  to  sea  ; 
Our  Ebenezer  here  we  raise 

And  start  anew  to  follow  Thee  ! 


No.  3. — Hour  of  Inauguration,  12  m. 

I. 
O,  God  of  endless  years  and  might, 

By  whom  the  nations  rise  and  fall, 
Thy  reverent  people  now  unite 

To  own  thee  as  our  Lord  of  all. 
We  view  with  awe  profound,  this  day, 

Thy  hand  by  which  our  sires  were  led 
In  all  their  dark  and  devious  way 

To  found  an  empire  with  Thine  aid. 

n. 
We  bless  Thee  for  Thy  bounteous  care 

Of  freedom's  great  and  holy  cause, 
That  Thou  didst  hear  our  fathers'  prayer 

To  give  us  room  and  righteous  laws, 
And  that  our  Union,  sealed  with  blood, 

And  Constitution,  so  benign, 
Have  for  a  century  now  stood, 

Protected  by  Thy  power  divine. 


INAUGURAL   HYMNS.  99 

III. 
We  thank  Thee  for  the  century  gone  ; 

For  its  memorials  here  to-day  ; 
For  him  who  led  the  era's  dawn, 

And  the  successors  to  his  sway  ; 
O,  may  Thy  gracious  favor  still 

Preserve  us  a  pure  Nation  long, 
Incline  us  to  obey  Thy  will, 

And  make  us  wise  and  good,  and  strong  ! 
DENVER,  COLO. 


No.  4.— For  close  of  noon  service. 

I. 
God  of  ages  and  of  nations, 

At  Thy  feet  we  humbly  bow  ; 
Hear  the  grateful  supplications 

Of  thy  patriot-people  now. 
As  from  ocean  on  to  ocean, 

Rising  waves  of  worship  roll 
Fill  all  hearts  with  pure  devotion, 

Sanctify  the  Nation's  soul. 

II. 
In  an  age  with  voices  thrilling, 

Calling  us  to  reverent  deed, 
When  Thy  word  is  so  fulfilling 

He  that  runneth  now  may  read, 
When  we  see  in  open  vision, 

And  the  heavens  around  us  shine, 
Help  us,  lyord,  with  clear  precision, 

To  perceive  Thy  paths  divine. 

in. 
Past  and  future  rise  before  us, 

And  our  country's  honored  dead, 
Now  like  angels  hover  o'er  us — 

Our  first  Chieftain  at  their  head — 


100  HASKELL'S   POEMS  —  PATRIOTIC. 

And  this  land,  sung  long  in  story, 
Oft  by  ancient  seers  foretold, 

Thou  art  filling  with  Thy  glory 

Gathered  from  bright  deeds  of  old. 

IV. 
God  of  empires  and  of  ages, 

As  the  centuries  move  on, 
And  their  chosen  chiefs  and  sages, 

Are  commissioned,  one  by  one, 
May  our  history's  hallowed  pages 

Through  propitious  eras  run 
And  from  all  Time's  future  stages 

Rise  the  prayer  :  Thy  will  be  done  ! 


jjo  5. — Sung  at  night  to  the  vast  assembly  in  Trinity 
Church,  Denver,  in  connection  with  Bishop  Warren'  Centenary 
Discourse. 

I. 

Sovereign  Ruler  over  all, 

From  Thy  high  eternal  throne, 

Where  majestic  angels  fall 

And  Thy  vast  dominions  own, 

Help  us  to  adore  Thy  power 

In  this  most  auspicious  hour. 

Thou  hast  been  the  God  and  Guide 

Of  our  fathers  in  the  past, 
Ever  present  at  their  side 

From  the  first  unto  the  last ; 
So  the  Country's  Father  said  : 
"  We  have  been  Divinely  led!" 

ii. 
When  the  land  was  led  astray 

By  the  lust  of  cruel  wrong, 
And  the  slave  was  heard  to  pray 

In  the  midst  of  Freedom's  song, 


INAUGURAL   HYMNS.  101 

Thou  did'st  march  on  Freedom's  side, 
Still  the  Nation's  God  and  Guide. 

When  a  Chieftain  Thou  didst  call, 
From  the  humblest  walks  of  life, 

To  proclaim  freedom  to  all, 

With  his  blood  to  seal  the  strife, 

Then  the  Country's  Savior  said : 
'  We  have  been  Divinely  led  !  " 

in. 
And  in  this  Centennial, 

Where  the  fathers  seem  to  stand, 
Our  wise  Chieftain  still  doth  tell  : 
"God  is  Guardian  of  our  land  !" 
Thou  art  still  the  people's  Guide, 
Walking  by  our  ruler's  side  ! 

Let  the  Future  rise  and  own 

All  Thy  wondrous  works  and  ways, 
Still  beseech  Thee  on  Thy  throne  : 
"Rule  o'er  us,  Ancient  of  Days  !" 
So  forever  be  it  said  : 
'  We  have  been  Divinely  led  !  " 


Oh,  what  glorious  visions  rise  ! 

As  our  Nation  still  expands, 
Under  Thy  benignant  skies, 

Emulated  by  all  lands, 
Till  all  nations  shall  revere 
Him  who  ruleth  ever  here. 

Then  shall  angels  come  again, 
Chanting  in  their  upper  air, 

'Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men  \ 

God  hath  heard  his  people's  prayer 

Then  by  all  lands  'twill  be  said  : 

:  WE  HAVE  BEEN  DIVINELY  I.ED.'' 


102  HASKEUVS   POEMS— PATRIOTIC. 

WASHINGTON'S     MONUMENT. 

[The  highest  monument  on  earth,  555  feet ;  corner  stone  laid 
1848;  completed  1884;  dedicated  Feb.  21,  1885;  work  suspended 
during  the  pro-slavery  war.  The  statue  of  Liberty  on  dome  of 
Capitol  stands  in  full  view.  The  poetic  conceit  of  song  as  the 
morning  and  evening  sun  salutes  this  famous  obelisk  reminds 
one  of  the  statue  of  Memnon  which  sang  at  the  rising  and 
sighed  at  the  setting  of  the  sun.] 

Great  monument  to  merit  grand ! 

Bathe  thy  brow  in  the  bright  sun, 
And  lift  aloft  for  every  land 

The  wonderous  name  of  Washington  . 
Rise  higher  than  the  heights  of  men, 

Above  all  obelisks  of  time  ; 
For  earth's  best  Chieftain's  fame  hath  been 

Symmetric,  peerless  and  sublime  ! 

Rise,  builded,  bound,  cemented,  done 

Like  constitution  law,  to  stand 
For  many  States  made  firm  in  one, 

So  to  be  loved  in  all  the  land  ; 
Nor  seemed  thy  pause  as  in  suspense, 

While  civil  conflict  came  and  went, 
And  hurled  oppression  ever  hence, 

Adverse  to  thy  Divine  intent. 

So  rose  our  Model  in  the  world, 

The  product  of  our  virgin  soil, 
And  Freedom's  ensign  high  unfurled, 

Uplifted  'by  true  sons  of  toil ; 
Till  in  his  pure  and  well  poised  life 

He  stood  admired  of  all  the  States, 
Unmovable  amid  their  strife 

He  watched,  still  o'er  their  Union  waits. 

He  stands  serene  when  tempests  lower, 
Nor  wavers  in  war's  thunder-storm  ; 

Such  might  is  his,  such  salient  power. 
Thy  structure,  like  his  stately  form, 


THE   SHIPWRECKS   AT   SAMOA.  103 

Stand  firm  on  thy  foundation  rocks; 

Breast  sternly  every  stormy  blast  ; 
Brave  lightning's  strokes  and  earthquake's  shocks, 

Nor  fall  nor  falter  to  the  last! 

Symbol  of  his  supreme  success — 

As  Patriot,  Soldier,  Ruler,  Sage— 
That  blent  both  Earth  and  Heaven  to  bless 

All  countries  and  each  coming  age, 
Cognomened  hdnce  to  keep  his  name, 

And,  lofty  like  his  loyal  soul, 
Declare,  for  aye,  his  deathless  fame, 

While  Freedom  lives  and  ages  roll! 

High  let  his  banner  wave  in  air, 

While  Liberty  surmounts  her  dome, 
While  patriots  go  to  God  in  prayer, 

Or  Heaven  bends  down  to  bless  their  home  ; 
Let  Memnon  music  lead  the  morn, 

Soft  sighs  attend  day's  sunset  eve, 
To  boast  the  dawn  such  men  are  born, 

And  how  their  deaths  the  nations  grieve  ! 
DENVER,  FEB.  21,  1885. 


THE  SHIPWRECKS  AT  SAMOA,    MARCH    l6,    1889. 

"  Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God  !" — Psalm  xlvi  :  10. 

I. 
Three  mightiest  nations  *  known  to  mortals  now 

Have  builded  navies  of  the  best  design, 
The  roughest  seas  to  ride  and  swiftest  plow 

The  trackless  brine — their  strength  and  speed  com- 
bine; 

And  on  those  ships  the  brazen  cannon  shine. 
And  soldiers,  mightiest  of  the  so  as  of  men, 

In  well-drilled  legions,  walk  the  dreadful  line 
Of  battle  ;  the  best  sailors  that  have  been 
Are  reefing  sails  up  in  the  rigging  of.  en  seen. 

*  Germany,    England  and  the  United   States  ;  the  first  of 
these  compelling  the  precautions  presence  of  the  other  two. 
46 


104  HASKELL'S  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

H. 
Some  peaceful  islands  in  Pacific  seas, 

Where  Gospel  Missions  have  made  known  God's 

love, 
And  breaths  of  spices  brood  on  every  breeze, 

And  benedictions  descend  from  above, 

Have  Divine  symbols  like  the  Spirit's  dove. 
These  isles  are  neutral  to  all  nations  known  ; 

Their  aims  are  proper,  as  their  actions  prove  ; 
Their  government  is  good  ;  God  doth  it  own  ; 
But  those  three  rival  nations  leave  them  not  alone. 

in. 
While  halcyon  peace  hangs  in  Pacific  skies 

O'er  simple  people  in  Sanioan  isles, 
One  hostile  legion  in  their  harbor  lies, 

And  two  more  watch  its  war-like  winks  and  wiles  ; 

But  Nature's  calm  their  naval  craft  beguiles, 
The  sun  seems  walking  softly  down  the  west, 

The  smooth  sea  looks  toward  the  sun  and  smiles 
And  folds  his  blushing  face  upon  her  breast ; 
Barth,  sea  and  air  seem  blest —  a  trinity  at  rest. 

IV. 

It  's  Friday  afternoon — near  four  o'clock  ! 

(Then  Jesus  died  to  save  a  sinning  world, 
And  the  Earth  quaked  and  Heaven  felt  the  shock,) 

The  flags  at  rest  begin  to  be  unfurled  ; 

The  dampschiff's  smoke  is  in  black  fleeces  curled  ; 
The  surfs  are  roused — a  rushing,  sick'ning  roar  ; 

The   air    that   whips    the    waves   in    wild   wind 's 

whirled  ; 

Such  hurricanes  have  seldom  been  before, 
While  mists  compacted  down  in  mighty  torrents  pour. 

V. 
The  tides  and  tempests  now  as  one  unite  ; 

The  deadly  powers  of  darkness  prowl  around, 


THE  SHIPWRECKS   AT   SAMOA.  105 

And  through  the  long,  dark  hours  of  day  and  night 
The  angry  winds  growl  on  in  woeful  sound, 
And  maddened  billows  meet  and  clash  and  bound  ; 

Yet  'bove  their  roar  are  heard  brave  shouts  of  cheer — 
That  back  and  forth  from  wrecking  ships  resound — 

Till  even  ashore  was  heard,  both  calm  and  clear, 

Their  strains  of  faith  and  hope,  and  strength  to  hurl 
off  fear. 

VI. 

Ah,  timely  this  !   for  twelve  long  tedious  hours 
Have  sailors,  soldiers  in  the  rigging  hung, 

And  each  huzzah  puts  in  those  men  new  powers  ; 
So  longer  still  unto  the  ropes  they  clung, 
Until  Ship  Trenton,  in  God's  hand,  now  swung 

Against  Vandalia's  upturned,  leaking  side, 
And  the  imperiled  men  in  rapture  flung 

Them  down  upon  her  deck  both  long  and  wide, 

And  safe  above  the  roaring,  bounding,  wrecking  tide  ! 

VII. 

Hark !  how  they  shout — unsheltered  from  the  storm — 

As  on  the  Trenton  they  are  driven  ashore, 
And  the  huge  ship  heaves  up  her  shattered  form, 

To  serve  in  naval  warfare  never  more — 

Bxcept  in  lessons  of  pathetic  lore 
When  men  shall  read  of  wrecks  upon  the  main 

And  youths  shall  hear  them  tell  the  tales  of  yore, 
And  age  on  age  give  out  their  joys  again — 
Aye  !  joys.of  rescued  men  !  For  aye,  repeat  the  strain  ! 

VIII. 

Still  in  that  storm  our  star-lit  banner  waves  ! 

That    "Spangled  Banner"  shines  with  sparkling, 

stars, 
And  warriors  sing  its  praise  o'er  grim   and  watery 

graves ! 

Even  vet'rans,  bearing  many  valiant  scars, 
Who'd  borne  that  flag  on  bloody  fields  of  Mars, 


106  HASKELVS  POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

With  voice  sonorous  and  with  reverent  air, 

As  when  they  wrought  iu  wise  and  righteous  wars, 
Now  mingle  praise  with  most  momentous  prayer 
And  feel  a  power  fearful,  infinite,  is  present  there  ! 

IX. 

As  Godly  service  by  Samoans  given 

Breathes  saving  love  to  sufferers  from  abroad, 

Soldiers  behold  the  sovereignty  of  Heaven, 
And  sailors  gazing  on  the  works  of  God 
Now  join  to  bow  before  Jehovah's  nod, 

And  all  exclaim  :  "  How  puny  is  our  race 

To  stand  or  tread  where  His  foot-steps  have  trod  ! 

Such  shores  as  grieve  the  Spirit  of  God's  grace 

May  ill  afford,  henceforth,  to  mock  Him  to  His  face  !" 

x. 
Though  not  a  gun  with  shot  or  shell  was  fired, 

Nor  sword,  nor  sabre  from  its  sheath  was  drawn, 
Well  nigh  two  hundred  warriers  there  expired, 

Before  the  sacred  Sabbath  morning's  dawn 

Beheld  the  beach  with  wrecks  and  ruin  strewn  ; 
Ere  the  rough  forces  of  the  sea  retired, 

More  than  two  millions  o'er  the  main  had  flown 
Of  naval  means  the  nations  once  admired — 
Such  grand  atonement  the  Samoan's  God  required ! 

XI. 

Almighty  Sovereign  of  Earth,  sea  and  sky, 
Who  boldest  oceans  in  Thy  hollowed  hand, 

While  to  Thy  word  the  raging  waves  reply 
In  roaring  winds,  bellowing  o'er  the  land, 
Now  powerful  nations  impotently  stand 

In  silent  wonder  at  Thy  sovereign  will  ! 

The  winds  and  waters  wait  at  Thy  command, 

And  battling  Nature  beats  all  Nation's  skill ! 

So,   mightiest  States,   submit ;    God  is  most  mighty 
still ! 


GARFIEXD'S  WORDS.  107 

"GOD  REIGNS,   AND  THE   GOVERNMENT   STILL  LIVES." 

Garfield's  words  before  the  mourning  mass  in  Wall 
street  the  morning  Lincoln  lay  dying  may  well  be 
added  here  to  illustrate  the  good  sovereignty  of  God. 
He  said  :  "  Fellow  Citizens — Clouds  and  darkness  are 
round  about  Him.  His  pavilion  is  dark  waters  and 
thick  clouds  of  the  skies.  Justice  and  judgment  are 
the  establishment  of  His  throne.  Mercy  and  truth 
shall  go  before  his  face.  Yes,  fellow  countrymen, 
God  reigns,  and  the  government  at  Washington  still 
lives."  "The  effecty-says  a  writer  there,-was  tremen- 
dous. The  crowd  stood  riveted  to  the  spot  in  awe, 
gazing  at  the  motionless  orator,  and  thinking  of  God 
and  the  security  of  the  government  in  that  dreadful 
hour.  As  the  boiling  wave  subsides  and  settles  to  the 
sea,  when  some  strong  wind  beats  it  down,  so  the 
tumult  of  the  people  sank  and  became  still.  '  All  took 
it  as  a  Divine  omen.  It  was  a  triumph  of  eloquence, 
inspired  by  the  moment,  such  as  falls  to  but  one  man's 
lot,  and  that  once  in  a  century.  The  genius  of  Web- 
ster, Choate,  Everett  or  Seward  never  reached  it. 
Demosthenes  never  equaled  it.  What  might  have 
happened  had  that  surging  and  maddened  mob  been 
let  loose,  none  can  tell.  The  man  for  the  crisis  was 
on  the  spot,  more  potent  than  Napoleon's  guns  at 
Paris* — Such  was  the  man  whom  the  Nation,  sixteen 
years  after,  mourned  as  our  second  Executive  victim 
of  vicious  assassination,  and  still  God  reigns  and  the 
government  at  Washington  is  living  still.  My  last 
revision  of  the  Lincoln  hymn  (p.  68)  appeared  in  the 
Denver  press  in  italics  the  morning  after  Garfield's 
death,  and  was  republished  in  a  volume  of  poems  in 
Boston.  It  will  be  a  fitting  close  to  these  pages  upon, 
patriotism,  and  is  as  follows  : 


108  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — PATRIOTIC. 

"EPITOME  OF  THE  FEELING  IN  DENVER." 

With  awe  profound  this  day, 
The  Nation  bows  to  pray 

In  bitter  grief ; 

And  through  the  stricken  land 
The  broken-hearted  stand 
And  mourn  on  every  hand 

Their  martyred  Chief. 
The  Almighty  Ruler  hears — 
His  sorrowing  peopled  tears 

Fall  at  His  feet- 
Makes  our  just  cause  His  care, 
Indites  and  hears  our  prayer, 
And  for  us  still  makes  bare 

His  mercy  seat. 
O,  Thou  who  hast  removed 
"Him  whom  the  people  loved" — 

Thy  servant  rare —  , 

Who  gavest  him  strength  and  light 
To  see  and  guard  the  right, 
Still  grant  Thy  holy  might 

To  men  of  prayer. 
Bless  still  our  Nation's  head — 
Successor  of  the  dead — 

And  keep  his  life  ; 
While  armies  cease  their  tread 
And  those  who  fought  and  bled, 
Rest  in  their  peaceful  bed, 

Heal  all  our  strife. 
Comfort  each  stricken  one, 
O,  God,  the  Father,  Son 

And  Holy  Ghost; 
While  in  our  hearts  we  own 
That  here  Thy  love  is  known 
And  Thine  the  only  throne 

Of  which  we  bo&st. 


III. 

JUVENILE.  * 

A  SCHOOL  BOY'S  SIGH  FOR  OUT-DOOR  SCENES. 

Who,  of  all  the  sons  of  men, 
Would  not  be  a  boy  again  ? 
Or  madam,  looking  in  the  glass, 
Would  not  be  a  winsome  lass  ? 
Still  lads  and  lasses  in  the  schools — 
Who  fancy  old  folks  all  are  fools — 
Sigh  for  something  in  the  past, 
And  always  will,  from  first  to  last ; 
For  thus  a  school  boy  sighed  one  day 
Fftr  fields  and  woods  not  far  away  : 

The  Spring  time  has  come  !     To  stay  in  my  room 

And  labor  alone  with  my  mind, 
Has  not  half  the  charm  of  fencing  a  farm, 

And  listening  to  bells  of  the  kine  ! 

Tho'  here  I  may  rise  in  thought  to  the  skies, 
And  canvass  both  woodland  and  hill ; 

Far  richer  the  joys  of  hale  farming  boys, 
Whose  bodies  may  wander  at  will. 

Tho'  pleasant,  indeed,  to  stand  here  and  read 
Of  deeds  which  the  noble  have  done  ; 

To  traverse  yon  wood,  in  puerile  mood, 
Were  far  richer  natural  fun  ! 

Tho'  here  I  may  stand,  with  pencil  in  hand, 

And  scribble  a  minute  for  rest ; 
'Twere  sweeter  to  tramp  through  sugar-tree  camp, 

And  be  with  its  brown  crystals  blest. 


110  HASKELI/S   POEMS  —  JUVENILE. 

Although  I  now  write,  with  nervous  delight, 

And  feel  my  mind  fairly  at  play  ; 
'Twere  blither  for  me  in  woodland  to  be  . 

With  school  mates  the  first  morn  of  May. 

• 
Still,  since  I  am  here,  with  pleasure  sincere 

I  will  gather  bright  blossoms  of  lore, 
And  now  and  then  sing  of  that  lovelier  Spring, 

Where  blossoms  shall  bloom  evermore. 


MY  BIRDIE  AND  I. 

Once,  when  a  little  child,  the  pretty  wildwood  flowers, 

That  curled  their  lips  and  smiled  with  sweet  chromatic  powers, 

My  rambling  feet  beguiled  into  the  forest  bowers, 

Where  everything  was  wild,  and  shadow  cooled  the  hours. 

Above  the  wild  flowers'  bed  I  spied  a  little  bird, 

That  raised  its  downy  head  whene'er  a  noise  it  heard, 

And,  very  earnest,  said  a  short,  unpleasant  word, 

And  op'ed  its  mouth  for  bread  if  but  a  leaflet  stirred. 

Too  blithe  was  I  to  think  of  others'  ease  or  ill, 
But  sported  on  the  brink  of  a  clear  pebbled  rill, 
That  whispered  in  its  clink  and  echoed  from  the  hill  : 
"  Ye  flowerets,  come  and  drink  !  Come,  whosoever  will !  " 
So  there  in  mimic  play  I  wreathed  a  posy  chain, 
Which  scared  the  bird  away  that  saw  the  nestling's  pain, 
And  brought  it  angling  prey,  but  fled  from  me  amain, 
Till,  by  some  sporttnan  gay,  that  parent  bird  was  slain. 

Her  mate,  perhaps,  it  was  which  perched  that  morn  to  sing, 

Where  I  became  the  cause  with  my  mischevious  sling 

Of  spoiling  both  his  claws  and  breaking  short  his  wing, 

And  moistening  Carlo's  jaws  with  the  poor  fluttering  thing. 

But  by  and  by  the  sound  that  unfed  fledgling  gave 

Was  throbbing  all  around,  its  pity  moving  wave, 

And  made  my  bosom  bound  with  brilliant  wish  and  brave, 

That  something  might  be  found  which  should  its  suffering  save. 

I  stood  and  watched  it  long,  till  I  felt  hungry,  too ; 
Yet  my  desire  was  strong  to  see  its  sufferings  through  ; 
For  now  its  littje  gong  I  knew  inversely  true, 
And  felt  it  was  not  wrong  to  make  its  "  much  ado." 


MY   BIRDIE  AND  I.  Ill 

Its  sad  and  simple  cry  was  proof  of  its  distress 
To  warblers  passing  by,  which,  moved  to  tenderness, 
Made  soft  and  sweet  reply,  but  only  deigned  to  bless 
The  thing,  about  to  die,  with  lavish  wordiness. 

I  watched  it.  till  the  wood  seemed  losing  the  sun's  light ; 

The  bird  still  begged  for  food,  with  all  its  meagre  m\ght, 

And  the  dark  chilling  brood  of  the  approaching  night 

Increased  its  moaning  mood,  and  drove  me  from  the  sight. 

But  soon  my  supper  board  betrayed  it?  bounteous  bowl 

In  which  had  just  been  poured,  like  snow  showers  from  the  pole, 

Milk  which  fat  kine  afford  and  whitest  wheaten  roll, 

And  then  that  welcome  word  of  "good  night"  soothed  my  soul. 

But  soon  my  sleep  was  sad  ;  In  ruminative  frame 
I  dreamed  of  all  I  had,  and  called  my  joys  by  name— 
My  "little  suit  of  plaid,"  my  dog  was  in  my  dream  ; 
All  that  makes  children  glad,  in  happy  clusters  came, 
And  danced  in  dim  array,  in  dreams'  candescent  hall, 
Till  all  stood  bright  as  day  in  pictures  on  the  wall. 
Then  some  one  seemed  to  say,  "now  let  the  curtain  fall  !" 
And  on  its  canvas  lay  that  poor  bird — that  was  a'l  ! 

The  contrast  made  me  weep  ;  I  wondered  why  'twas  so, 
That  I  such  joys  should  reap,  and  a  poor  bird  such  woe  ! 
I  woke  at  once  from  sleep  ;  its  cries,  so  sad  and  low, 
Seemed  in  night  air  to  creep  and  up  to  Heaven  go. 
I  rose  at  day's  first  dawn,  impatient  of  delay, 
And  ran  across  the  lawn,  and  down  the  woodland  way, 
Before  the  sun  had  drawn  above  the  hills  the  day, 
And,  panting,  sat  me  down  to  hear  the  poor  bird  pray  ! 

I  found  it  well  nigh  through  life's  agony  alone  ; 

But,  as  yet  feebler  grew  its  supplicating  moan, 

A  gentle  sunbeam  drew  warmth  from  Apollo's  throne, 

And  its  soft  mantle  threw  around  the  shivering  one. 

I  saw  the  dewy  nest  was  foul  for  want  of  care, 

And  filth  within  it  pressed  that  poisoned  the  pure  air  ; 

Of  all  that  gives  life  zest  the  bird  did  no  way  share ; 

It  seemed  with  nothing  blest — not  even  with  power  to  bear  ! 

As  still  I  watched  it  there,  I  wished  that  it  were  fed  ; 
The  "  wish  "  was  worthless  fare  ;  it  brought  the  bird  no  bread  ; 
I  even  said  a  prayer,  but  it  seemed  nearer  dead, 
And  the  unwilling  air  returned  the  prayer  I  said. 
"Poor  Bird!    be  warmed  and  filled  !"    echoed  the  prayer  I  made  ; 
Until  at  length  I  willed  to  find  material  aid 
47 


112  HASKEUVS   POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

From  gifts  God's  hand  distilled  ;  and  as  I  did,  I  praj-ed, 
And  so,  my  prayer  fulfilled,  its  suffering  was  allayed  ! 

Though,  when  I  stretched  my  hand  and  helped  it  from  its  nest, 
It  was  too  weak  to  stand,  I  brought  it  to  my  breast ; 
Its  wants  I  closely  scanned  ;  I  shared  with  it  my  vest ; 
With  pleasure,  then,  I  planned  to  make  it  wholly  blest ! 
I  got  with  which  to  feed  ;  and,  though  it  still  appeared 
A  thing  of  utter  need,  from  that  poor  bird  I  reared 
A  beauteous  thing,  indeed  ;   and  when  its  song  I  heard, 
I  learned  therein  to  read  what  sages  have  revered — 
That  "  friends,  indeed,  are  friends  in  need  !" 

Now  time  seemed  never  slow  ;  not  a  whole  cloudy  year 
Might  wear  a  moment's  woe,  with  birdie  hovering  near  ; 
Not  even  the  bleakest  snow  could  intercept  our  cheer — 
And  yet  I  let  her  go  ;  for  liberty  is  dear  ! 
Full  many  a  time  I've  thought,  when  whistling  at  the  plow, 
Her  answering  notes  I  caught,  and  I  can  hear  them  now  ; 
The  lessons  Birdie  taught  when  singing  on  some  bough, 
Are  still  as  chaplets  wrought  of  joy  around  my  brow. 

(The  Morals— /). 

Thus  men  of  means  have  been  through  heaths  and  deserts  wild, 
Amid  the  city's  din,  where  pageantry  beguiled, 
And  here  and  there  have  seen  a  poor  and  orphan  child, 
With  looks  and  language  mean,  all  helpless  and  defiled  ; 
And  like  that  starving  bird — has  such  a  hapless  child 
Cried  out  before  the  I^ord,  in  accents  weak  and  wild, 
For  needful  bed  and  board,  and  blessings  which  are  piled 
In  stately  palace  stored  ;  and  when  they  heard  Heaven  smiled  ! 

(Moral  2). 

Thus  many  a  precious  prize  which  forecast  could  not  crave, 
In  deep  depression  lies  for  pitying  love  to  save  ! 
While  many  a  virtue  dies  that  might  have  nobly  braved, 
By  kindness,  vice  that  lies  ambushed  in  ways  depraved. 

(.Moral  3). 

So  parents,  in  whose  prime  a  child  of  hope  is  born, 
With  Mercy's  star  sublime  to  watch  its  waking  morn, 
Are  sometimes  killed  by  crime,  or  other's  craft  and  scorn 
And  sports  for  spending  time  which  good  deeds  would  adorn. 

(Moral  4). 

Thus  men  may  turn  aside,  like  Devi's  sons  of  old, 
And  in  their  scornful  pride  "  look  daggers"  keen  and  cold, 
Designed  to  stab  and  chide  the  heirs  of  want  who  hold 
Their' hands  extended  wide  for  coppers,  not  their  gold. 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   NEW   MOON.  113 

(Moral  5). 

Thus  well  made  prayers  are  read  for  others  grief  and  pain  ; 
Impromptu  prayers  are  said,  both  said  and  read  in  vain  ; 
For  if  Prayer's  soul  is  dead  its  corpse  comes  back  again  ; 
AVhlle  deeds  by  prayers  well  led  make  Mercy's  clouds  all  rain. 

(Moral  6). 

And  thus  we  learn  to  know  how  blessed  'tis  to  give, 
And  acts  of  kindness  show  to  those  that  hardly  live. 
Lord,  may  it  ne'er  be  so  that  I  shall  not  believe 
It  better  to  bestow  than  even  to  receive  ! 


A   BOY'S   NOVEMBER   VISIT   TO   THE   NEW   MOON. 
I. 

The  brindle  Autumn  wreathes  her  brow 

With  the  bright  woodbine's  flame  ; 
And  so,  it 's  Indian  summer  now, 

When  gun-men  hunt  their  game. 
Now  soft  November's  setting  sun 

Sinks  pensive,  sad  and  pale, 
And  rabbits  from  their  ambush  run, 

And  quiet  lulls  the  quail. 
The  echoes  from  the  hazy  hill, 

Like  saintly  longings  seem, 
Till  one  well  feels,  I'd  fly  at  will 

O'er  mountain,  moor  and  stream, 
And  pass  into  the  upper  air, 

Like  warblers  on  the  wing, 
Or  a  priest's  vesper  voice  at  prayer, 

With  Angels  worshiping. 

n. 
On  one  such  dun  and  sober  day, 

Late  in  the  afternoon, 
On  Fancy's  wings  I  flew  away 

And  mounted  to  the  moon. 
I  lit  first  on  the  Lunar  face, 

Just  where  there  join  in  line — 


114  HASKEXVS   POEMS —  JUVENILE 

That  line  of  gradual  linear  grace — 

The  Earth-light  and  sunshine. 
I  lit  thus  on  the  Lunar  orb, 

Her  night  and  day  between, 
Where  both  one's  senses  best  absorb 

In  glory  of  the  scene. 
To  right  of  me,  in  bright  array, 

The  burning  sunbeams  shone  ; 
To  left  of  me,  like  moonshine,  lay 

The  light  the  Barth  had  thrown. 

in. 
I  first  flew  round  to  left  from  right — 

The  sun  hurled  there  such  heat, 
A  blazing  lamp  of  blistering  light — 

And  soon  sought  out  a  seat 
Where  stood  a  whitish  opaque  stone, 

With  silver  dust  made  soft, 
Whereon  the  shimmering  earth-rays  shone, 

Bright  borrowed  light  aloft. 
As  there  I  stayed  I  watched  the  stars, 

Unhindered  by  a  haze, 
And  first,  full  near,  marched  fiery  Mars 

With  blushing  Mercury's  blaze. 
All  planets,  hung  from  pleasing  heights, 

Poised  skillful  in  pure  skies  ; 
Like  clear,  electric,  clustering  lights, 

They  looked  like  Angel's  eyes. 

IV. 

The  constellations,  calmly  clear, 

The  Heavenly  dome,  that  hung, 
Looked  all  alive,  all  eye,  all  ear, 

So  old  and  yet  so  young. 
Resplendent  glory  gleamed  around, 

Flowing  from  points  afar, 
And  filling  full  of  silent  sound 

The  space  from  star  to  star. 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   NEW   MOON.  115 

Some  paler  systems  I  perceived 

In  distances  so  dim, 
Their  twinkling  light  I  twice  believed 

Were  heralds  of  the  hymn, 
That  countless  suns  in  chorus  sang 

When  stars  of  God  in  glee, 
First  shouted  round  till  Heavens  rang 

With  His  heart's  ecstasy. 

v. 
But  the  big  Earth  seemed  best  to  me, 

For  she  did  so  fair  shine 
Her  beams  were  born  indeed  to  be 

Night's  diadem  divine. 
L/o,  there  she  stood  a  living  star, 

An  immense  full  moon  face, 
Whose  noble  measures  naught  could  mar, 

Its  grandeur  or  its  grace. 
Bright  Saturn  I  could  barely  see, 

And  Venus  vainly  shone, 
For  in  my  sight  Earth  seemed  to  be 

The  Queen  of  Night  alone. 
In  blended  beauty,  love  and  bliss, 

Through  shivering  air  she  shone, 
And  came  so  near  my  soul  to  kiss 

She  claimed  me  for  her  OWTU. 

VI. 

Dear  Earth,  dear  Earth,  I  answering,  sang, 

How  beautiful !    how  blest ! 
Till  round  the  Moon's  tall  mountains  rang, 

With  all  my  zeal  and  zest ; 
'  Dear  Earth  !    dear  Earth  !"  their  echoes  said, 

"  How  blest !    how  beautiful !" 
And  thus  my  soul  the  Moon's  song  led 

Filial  and  dutiful. 
So  Earth  thou  art  Moon's  moon,  I  said, 

Some  thirteen  times  her  size, 


116  HASKELL'S   POEMS  —  JUVENILE. 

And  every  time  thou  turn's!  thy  head 
Fresh  beauties  fill  my  eyes. 

Thy  glacier's  crest,  thy  mountain  crown, 
Thy  grazing  hill-sides  green, 

Thy  fields  and  forests  fading  brown, 
Thy  seasons — all  are  seen. 

VII. 

Thy  ocean  storms  of  sea  and  air, 

Neath  Neptune,  god  of  gales, 
Seem  now,  anon,  as  nuns  at  prayer, 

A  virgin  host  in  veils. 
And  pageant  clouds  all  painted  clear, 

And  silvered  in  the  Sun, 
Pass  defter  by  than  days  appear, 

So  rapidly  they  run. 
Fair  Burope,  Asia,  Africa, 

And  islands  of  the  mains — 
And  North  and  South  America, 

With  Polar  seas  and  plains  ; 
A  perfect  panorama  passed, 

Till,  surfeited,  I  sighed  : 
How  long,  indeed,  how  long  will  last 

That  wondrous  world  so  wide  ! 

VIII. 

I  seemed  to  see  some  maids  and  men, 

Even  "dogs  that  bay  the  moon," 
I/ook  up  from  dungeon,  lawn  and  den, 

Into  the  Night's  tall  noon. 
I  wondered  if  I,  too,  were  watched 

By  boys  where  I  was  born  ; 
By  even  the  snow-cold  boys  that  snatched 

The  ripe  and  rustling  corn. 
I  asked  if  other  human  eyes 

Were  turned  just  where  I  stood, 
To  scan  my  seat  set  in  the  skies 

From  Earth's  fond  brotherhood. 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   NEW   MOON.  117 

I  doubted ;  do  such  deign  to  see 

With  clear,  unclouded  eye, 
How  bold  the  Moon's  large  mountains  be, 

How  ring-like,  rough  and  high  ? 

IX. 
But  soon  on  mountains  of  the  Moon 

The  Sun  alternate  shone  ; 
Aye  soon,  alas  !    it  seemed  too  soon, 

I  saw  Sol's  blazing  throne. 
Earth's  moonbeams  made  obeisance,  then, 

Beneath  his  burning  ray, 
And  melted,  like  the  lives  of  men, 

Before  his  mighty  sway. 
On  Fancy's  wings,  at  once  'I  flew, 

As  in  my  flight  from  Earth, 
And  sought  and  found  the  scenes  anew 

Where  were  my  home  and  birth. 
But  often  since,  on  Fancy's  thought, 

I've  flown  off  to  the  Moon, 
And  thence  again  this  goal  have  sought, 

In  Fancy's  fleet  balloon. 


118  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — JUVENILE- 

A  LOG  SCHOOL  HOUSE — THE  FREE  SCHOOL  UPON  THE  FRONTIER. 
— "THE  FIRST  SPELLED  DOWN  THE  WORST  CUT  OUT." 

The  schools  of  this  Republic  we  scan  with  hope  and  pleasure  ; 

For  what  they  are  and  will  be  is  proof  they  are  our  treasure. 

When  liberty  first  landed,  it  consecrated  learning  ; 

And  love  of  letters,  since  then,  incessantly  is  burning 

Upon  the  country's  altar  to  hallow  education, 

The  hand-maid  of  religion  and  safeguard  of  the  Nation. 

So  first  in  old  New  England,  in  churches  and  school-houses, 

Was  born  the  noble  purpose  that  still  the  Nation  rouses — 

To  know  the  people's  rights  and  rightly  to  defend  them, 

And  rear  aright  their  youth  and  royally  befriend  them. 

"  The  land  of  steady  habits"  had  steady  schools  most  truly, 
But  on  our  western  frontiers  they're  often  times  unruly  ; 
For  here  are  sparsely  sprinkled  all  sorts  of  people — Shakers, 
The  Round  Heads  of  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania  Quakers, 
The  Owenites  and  Fouriers  of  all  the  shades  and  puckers, 
From  grandsons  of  the  Pilgrims  to  Hoosier  boys  and  Suckers, 
The  Wolverines  and  Buckeyes,  and  old  Kentuck's  corn-Crackers, 
The  shepherds,  cowherds,  hogherds,  the  drovers  and  the  packers; 
The  rich  and  scheming  landlords,  the  miserable  squatters  ; 
The  cold  and  ploding  Dutchman  with  all  his  vis  inertice; 
The  sanguine  sons  of  Erin,  with  wit  to  prove  their  pedigree  ; 
The  Welchmau   and  the  Frenchman,   the  Switzers  and   Nor- 
wegians, 

The  Huguenots  and  Magyars,  and  exiles  of  all  regions — 
All  in  our  woods  and  prairies  with  all  their  clans  and  colors — 
Even  the  kidnaped  negroes,  here  come,  and  furnish  scholars. 

As  parents,  so  the  pupils  are  like  a  giove  of  spices — 

L/ike  spice  of  lift-  they're  various,  with  various  traits  and  vices. 

I  see  some  little  school  ma'ms,  now  leading,  teaching  brothers, 

While  others  may  be  blue  socks,  and  others  best  of  mothers. 

Diversity  of  talent's  here,  of  tastes  also  as  surely, 

And  every  patriot  wishes  them  educated  purely  ; 

For  soon  they'll  be  the  people  and  constitute  the  Nation, 

And  all  the  world  depends  on  their  way  of  education. 

The  school  house  is  a  log  heap,  a  square  place  in  the  middle  ; 

Its  corners  locked  together  some  like  a  horse  and  saddle, 

Its  stick  and  mortar  chimney  stands  up  out  of  the  attic  ; 

Its  furniture  of  slab  seats  defies  both  art  and  critic, 

And  all  the  rest  you'll  guess  at ;  my  muse  has  not  a  crayon 

That  can  portray  its  black-boards  and  blocks  that  dunces  stay  on. 


A   LOG   SCHOOL   HOUSE.  119 

But  they  must  have  a  school  house,  and  thanks  to  God  they 

have  it ; 

For  soon  a  fairer  phoenix  will  rise  from  its  dust  to  save  it. 
And  when  they  have  a  school  house — the  thing  seems  all  they 

care  for — 
They  send  their  "buds  of  promise"  and  think  they'll  blossom 

therefore ; 
And  therefore  so  they  do,  but  very  much  as  follows  : 

A  master's  found  and  sceptered  ;  each  little  urchin  swallows 
Whate'er    this    keeper    gives    him — school-keeper    means    the 

master — 

And  by  his  cramming  process  the  progress  seems  the  faster. 
He  "learns  'em  about  natur"  from  Olney,  Morse  and  Murray, 
And  has  so  much  in  hand  he's  "alus  in  a  hurry  !" 
While  here  and  there  comes  flying  the  idler's  urgent  mandate  : 
"  'L'yu  mend  my  pen?  it  blots  so  !"  and  "  M-yi  wash  my  slate?" 

Just  now  Joseph  Deane  canters  up  with  his  daughter — 

Half  a  dozen  dry  boys  say  :     "  M-yi  go  and  git  water  ?" 

While  the  master's  poor  head  he  is  scratching  and  thinking, 

And  crying  ''n-o  !"  "yis !"  Then  a  huge  bit  of  chinking — 

(Log  house,  you  remember) — is  slyly  pushed  through 

That  Willie  may  get  of  Dean's  daughter  a  view  ; 

When  the  keeper's  vernacular  serves  him  at  once 

And  he  bawls  out  to  Willie  :     "  Why,  Bill,  you're  a  dunce  ! 

I'm  vexed,  I  declare  !  Why  need  you  be  told 

Them  chinkins  is  there  to  keep  out  the  cold  ? 

I  really  say  for't,  I  wish  you  were  small, 

And  then  you  should  have  011  a  bonnet  and  shawl, 

And  set  with  'Nance'  Hunter  from  now  to  next  fall ! 

Yis,  were  you  not  big,  I'd  give  you  a  lickin  !" 

"  Hush  !  who's  at  the  door,  and  knocks  it  by  kickin'  ?" 

(In  low  voice)  "  Study  now  !''  (loud)  "Come  in,  you  please  !" 

But  Joseph  keeps  kicking,  as  more  to  his  ease  ;  f 

And  the  pedagogue  hastens  to  welcome  the  stranger, 
As  if  some  one's  life  were  really  in  danger  ; 
While  paper  birds  fly,  and  winking  and  talking 
Are  fast  interspersed  with  the  master's  fast  walking, 
Till  bolts  through  the  door  a  bold  "  How  du  yer  du? 
Take  down  this  'ere  darter,  then  I'll  git  down  tew  : 
For  my  baist  has  a  shew  luse — its  a  pity  tu  luze  it  ! 
For  it  ain't  not  near  worn  out ;  old  Hobson  kin  use  it." 

The  daughter's  "unhorsed  "  in  haste  and  with  pleasure  ; 
Old  Joseph  rolls  down  his  round  pony  at  leisure, 
And  tears  the  loose  shoe  from  the  nag's  lifted  foot, 


120  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

And  hangs  it  at  zero  from  the  strap  of  his  boot ; 
Then  straddles  the  beast,  and  away  they  both  go  ; 
As  she  paces  or  canters,  so  jostles  old  Joe ; 
While  mocking  his  motion  sits  Willie  within, 
Till  Jim  Smith  slides  beneath  him  a  jolly  bent  pin  ; 
And  then  came  two  floggings  !  and  then  the  recess  ; 
And  then  the  petitions,  some  dozen  or  less, 
To  have  a  "torch-light  school,"  for  teaching  to  spell, 
And  pledges  as  plenty  "we  all  will  act  well !" 

The  master  complies  ;  word  scuds  o'er  the  town 
For  all  the  young  sparks  to  come  and  spell  down. 
Hence  all  are  on  hand,  each  one  at  his  post, 
To  learn  how  to  spell,  but  to  merry  make  most. 
Two  rivals  are  there — youth  of  rank,  you  must  know  : 
"  Prince  Albert !"  "King  Louis  !"  for  so  their  names  go. 
Good  spellers,  of  course  ;  for  they  have  the  renown 
Of  "always  last  chosen  and  always  first  down." 
But  for  all  their  bad  spelling  care  they  naught,  by  the  by 
If  they  steal  now  and  then  but  a  glance  from  the  eye 
Of  a  certain  Miss  Anna,  the  belle  of  the  ville— 
Whose  father's  a  landlord,  owns  stores  and  the  mill, 
With  mortgage  on  mortgage  on  poor  men's  estates, 
Who  oft  wait  like  beggars  for  crums  at  his  gates— 
Her  neat  girlish  figure,  in  Gaelic  gown, 
Was  the  ideal  beauty  of  all  in  the  town  ; 
And  when  she  stood  up  with  the  spellers  that  night 
She  seemed  like  an  angel  in  the  two  rivals'  sight. 

They  were  there,  as  appears,  they  were  certain  for  what- 
To  "go  home  with  Miss  Anna"  each  equally  thought, 
And  when  she  stood  twice  and  thrice  seated  them  all, 
And  then  stept,  as  a  queen,  for  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
"Say,  Louis  !  "  said  Albert,  "I  leave  it  to  thee— 

» Shall  I  walk  with  Miss  Anna  or  she  walk  with  me?" 
But  Louis,  as  selfish  as  sage,  it  is  true, 
Replied  to  this  question  by  asking  it,  too, 
As  by  looks  full  of  hope  and  with  toss  of  the  head, 
He  turned  round  to  Albert  and  tauntingly  said  : 

"  Why,  Ab.,  'tis  with  pleasure  I  leave  it  to  you, 
Shall  I  walk  with  Anna,  or  she  walk  with  Lou  ?" 

That  moment  a  rustic,  who  came  for  a  call, 

Whose  steed  he  had  tethered  near  by  in  a  stall, 

But  whose  rank  as  a  beau  was  not  very  bad, 

Though  by  cognomen  known  as  the  "countryfied  lad," 

When  Louis  and  Albert  were  punning  their  doubt, 


A   LOG   SCHOOL   HOUSE).  121 

And  beaux  by  the  dozen  were  standing  about, 

By  a  waive  of  his  hand  and  a  courteous  bow, 

Commanded  free  passage,  and  with  uncovered  brow 

He  spoke  thus  :     "Queen  Anna,  this  beautiful  night 

Can  I  serve  you?"  She  answered  :  "Thanks  !  'twill  delight 

Me  to  have  you  !  And  now,  are  we  ready  to  start?" 

The  rabble  divides,  and  the  rivals  depart ; 

While  teachers  and  patrons  shout :  "Cheer  ye  the  brave  I 

A  victor  so  valiant  a  nation  will  save  !" 

But  Albert  and  Louis  for  months  were  as  glum 

As  the  father  and  mother  of  an  infant  Tom  Thumb, 

And  the  rustic  and  Anna,  a  right  happy  pair, 

Are  building  mean  time  bright  castles  in  air. 

Thus  the  loves  of  our  school  days,  the  sacred  and  true, 
Are  much  like  the  sunbeams  that  laugh  in  the  dew, 
While  the  school-house  and  play  ground,  the  goal  and  the 

ball, 

The  master,  the  mistress,  mates,  patrons  and  all, 
Are  islands  of  beauty  in  oceans  now  past, 
Whose  pictures  grow  brighter  the  longer  they  last, 
And  shed  o'er  the  Nation  an  ennobling  spell 
To  make  men  ambitious  to  live  and  do  well  ; 
And  the  more  they  are  rustic  we  prize  them  the  more, 
Because  they  teach  yet  the  best  lessons  of  yore. 
Though  mistakes  are  abundant  and  habits  were  rude, 
And  manners  are  rough  and  ideas  are  crude, 
The  aim  and  the  drift  are  so  right  in  their  end 
That  our  schools  from  the  first  help  to  freedom  extend  ; 
Then  far  away  be  the  day  when  our  land,  like  a  fool, 
Shall  scorn  for  its  faults  even  a  country  free  school. 


122  BASKET'S  POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

School  Song*— No.  1. 

THE  SELF-MADE    MAN. 

Air— Melodeon  II:  "A  Wet  Sheet  and  a  Flowing  Sea ." 

I. 
With  a  generous  heart  and  a  thoughtful  mind, 

A  spirit  firm  and  true, 
With  all  those  noble  traits  combined 

Which  mark  the  precious  few  ; 
.     Which  mark  the  precious  few  indeed, 

A  stripling  rude  and  young, 
With  scarce  a  suit  of  homespun  on, 

Inspired  this  rural  song. 

•Chorus — 

A  noble  lad,  indeed,  was  he, 

The  world  has  known  it  long  ; 
And  would  you  learn  his  history, 

Just  listen  to  our  song. 

II. 
He  early  plied  the  woodman's  axe, 

The  woodman's  song  he  knew, 
And  much  he  loved  the  humble  cot 

Where  home-bred  pleasures  grew ; 
Where  home-bred  pleasures  grew  for  him, 

Yet  might  not  always  grow  ; 
For  soon  his  life  is  orphanage, 

Where  tides  of  sorrow  flow. 

Yet  a  noble  lad,  indeed,  was  he — etc. 

in. 

From  parents'  lips,  in  burning  words, 
And  breathing  thought,  he  learns 

*  When  a  country  school  boy  the  author  wrote  several  juven- 
ile songs,  and  often  heard  the  scholars  singing  them  evenings 
and  mornings  at  their  chores  and  by  the  wa3'sides.  Following 
are  a  few  samples,  in  hope  that  some  who  sang  them  then  may 
be  glad  to  see  them  now. 


SCHOOL  SONGS.  12S 

That  Knowledge  is  a  legacy 

Which  he  who  gains  it  earns  — 
Which  he  who  gains  it  earns  by  toil, 

And  he  must  earn  the  same  ; 
For  they  bequeath  no  more  to  him 

Than  an  untarnished  name. 

Yet  a  noble  name,  indeed,  has  he  —  etc. 

IV. 

A  log  school  house,  with  scanty  means, 

Is  soon  to  him  most  dear  ; 
For  bits  of  knowledge  here  he  gleans  : 

He  forms  his  purpose  here— 
He  forms  his  purpose  here  that  he 

Will  be  a  "  self-made  man," 
And  writes  this  note  within  his  creed  — 
can  who  thinks  he  can." 


O  a  noble  lad,  indeed,  was  he  —  etc. 


He  squanders  not  his  youthful  morn  ; 

He  shows  the  vain  and  gay 
He  has  no  wish  for  luxury, 

Its  price  he  cannot  pay — 
Its  price  he  cannot  pay  so  dear, 

Were  this  his  chief  desire, 
And  thoughts  of  immortality 

A  nobler  thirst  inspire. 

O  a  noble  lad,  indeed,  was  he — etc. 

VI. 

He  reaches  manhood,  great  in  worth — 

As  good  as  he  is  great ; 
And  nations  look  for  his  advice  ; 

He  sits  in  chairs  of  state — 


124  HASKEUVS  POEMS— JUVENILE. 

He  sits  in  chairs  of  state  to-day, 

A  humble  man  of  prayer, 
And  tho'  not  rich  in  things  of  earth, 

We  guess  he  has  his'  share. 

O  a  noble  man,  indeed,  is  he, 

The  world  has  known  him  long  ; 

And  may  you  from  his  history 
Approve  our  zealous  song. 


School  Song—  No.  2. 

TREAT    KINDLY    YOUR   SCHOOLMATES. 

A  ir  —  "  Flo  w  Gen  tly,  Sweet  A/ton . ' ' 

Treat  kindly  your  schoolmates:  they  know  how  to 
feel 

Emotions  of  kindness  for  every  true  friend  ; 
Then  show  yourselves  friendly,  and  thus  you  appeal 

To  them  for  such  friendship  as  that  you  extend. 
Treat  kindly  your  schoolmates,  and  merit  their  love  ; 
For  few  then  can  hate  you  :  your  kindness  shall  prove 
That  like  leaves  its  likeness  wherever  it  goes — 
That  kindness  wins  kindness,  while  vice  wins  its  woes. 

Treat  kindly  the  orphan,  the  maimed  and  the  poor, 
The  awkward,  the  homely,  and  those  in  poor  dress, 

For  all  have  one  Father,  who  may  esteem  more 
The  ones  of  whom  we  are  wont  to  think  less. 

Yes,  treat  ye  with  kindness  the  cruel  and  vile  ; 

For  rage  is  least  ruthless  when  met  with  a  smile. 

Treat  kindly  your  schoolmates,  both  good  ones  and 
bad; 

You'll  never  regret  it,  but  always  be  glad. 


SCHOOL   SONGS.  125 

School  Song  —  No.  3. 

THE  STUDENT'S  TOIL. 

Air — "A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave." 

I. 
O  give  me  the  student's  toil, 

And  the  student's  prize  to  gain, 
I'll  consume  the  midnight, oil, 

And  a  useless  life  disdain. 
While  endowed  with  the  powers  of  thought, 
And  a  Universe  's  open  to  scan, 

0  give  me  the  student's  lot, 

And  I'll  fill  it  as  full  as  I  can  !— [D.  c.] 

II. 
Let  Ignorance  forge  her  chains, 

And  the  idler  put  them  on  ; 
Through  life  endure  the  pains 

That  the  sluggard  feels  anon  ; 

1  sooner  would  toil  a  slave, 

And  earn  for  the  hungry  food, 
Than  crawl  to  an  idler's  grave 

And  do  to  the  world  no  good  ! — [D.  c.  ] 

in. 
Then  give  me  the  student's  task, 

To  improve  my  immortal  mind  ; 
A  pleasure  which  some  do  not  ask — 

That  some  are  unwilling  to  find  ; 
Who,  perched  on  a  wave  of  time, 

And  borne  to  a  boundless  sea, 
Think  not  their  folly  a  crime, 

Nor  yet  what  its  end  shall  be. 

IV. 

{Chorus  and  Ending.} 

While  blest  with  the  powers  of  thought 
And  a  Universe  's  open  to  scan, 


126  HASKELL'S  POEMS  — JUVENILE- 

O  give  me  the  student's  lot ; 

I'll  meet  it  as  well  as  I  can  ! 
O  give  !  O  give !  O  give  me  the  student's  lot ; 
I'll  meet  it!    I'll  meet  it! 

I'll  meet  it,  as  well  as  I  can  ! 

School  Song— No.  4. 

OCR  MOTTO:    "ONWARD  AND  UPWARD!" 

(To  a  Tune  in  "The  Vocalist.") 

I. 

Our  Motto  is,  "  Onward  and  upward,  too  :" 
The  temple  of  science  and  progress  we  view, 
And  we  haste  to  her  portals  with  hearty  delight, 
To  join  in  her  musings  from  morning  till  night. 

She  invites  us,  and  delights  us  ; 
Yes,  we  love  her  classic  lore, 
And  its  study,  more  and  more  ; 

For,  when  thus  inclined,  thought  improves  the  mind  ; 
Mind  that  never  dies — let  it  ever  rise  ! 

n. 

Our    Watchword    is,    "Knowledge    of    Nature    and 

Truth;" 

We  search  it  as  treasure,  and  seek  it  in  youth  ; 
No  thief  can  e'er  steal  it,  and  nothing  destroy  ; 
The  grave  can't  confine  it,  nor  cut  off  its  joy  ; 

It  goes  with  us — Knowledge  cheers  us — 

Yes,  it  charms  our  youthful  days, 

Graces  age  a  thousand  ways  ; 
Goes  beyond  the  tomb,  lighting  all  its  gloom — 
Gloomy  grave  and  drear,  if  Knowledge  endeth  here  ! 

in. 

Jehovah,  just  is  thy  heavenward  claim, 
That  "  Onward  and  upward  "  be  always  our  aim  ; 
These  minds  act  within  us,  immortal,  free, 
As  souls  thou  hast  given  us  to  tutor  for  thee  ; 


SCHOOL   SONGS.  127 

They're  not  matter — no,  they're  better  ! 

Wealth  and  gold,  the  miser's  store, 

Help  not  here  our  souls  to  soar, 
But  enslave  the  mind,  and  with  burdens  bind — 
Bind  it  down  to  dust — yet  depart  it  must ! 

IV. 

Then  search  we  for  Wisdom,  with  its  treasures  vast> 
And  robes  for  a  life  that  forever  shall  last ; 
A  heart  to  improve  it  by  hopes  divine, 
And  fit  us  in  glory  forever  to  shine  ; 

Good  demands  it,  God  commands  it ; 

Nothing  less  is  worth  our  aim  ! 

What  are  pleasures,  riches,  fame, 
But  a  fading  show  ?     "  On  and  upward  "  go  ! 
Here  our  vows  tenew  :    Be  a  student  true  ! 


School  Song  — No.  5. 

THE   GOOD-BYE   SONG   OF   A   GOOD   BOYS'    SCHOOL. 
I. 

Ye  gracious  friends  with  whom  we've  dwelt, 

Good  bye  !, 
For  all  the  kind  regard  you've  felt, 

Good  bye  ! 

May  friendship's  wreath  forever  bind 
Our  hearts,  round  which  'tis  now  entwined  ; 
Our  prayer  's  a  grand  good  bye  ! 
O  join  the  prayer — "Good  Bye  !" 

ii. 
Each  fellow  student,  full  dear  to  mCj 

Farewell ! 
May  Wisdom's  laurels  fall  fast  on  thee, 

Farewell ! 

Our  mutual  thought  has  oft  combined 
To  gladden  and  enrich  the  mind  ; 
49 


128  HASKEU/S  POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

To  all,  a  fond  farewell ; 

We'll  blend  our  fond  farewell ! 

in. 
Our  faithful  teachers,  all  fond  and  true, 

Farewell  ! 
May  Heaven's  best  gifts  e'er  follow  you  ! 

Farewell  ! 

May  all  your  lives  be  ever  fair, 
And  Heaven  reward  your  heartfelt  care — 
A  warm  farewell  to  you  ! 
Good  bye  !     Farewell !     Adieu  ! 

IV. 

Thou  Temple  of  Science  with  hallowed  walls, 

Good  bye ! 
We  now  must  leave  thy  happy  halls, 

Good  bye ; 

The  golden  days  we've  spent  in  thee 
On  memory's  tablet  long  shall  be  ; 
To  thee  we  sing  :   Good  bye  ! 
Echo  our  song  :    "  Good  bye  !" 
Sing  all  :    Adieu  !    Farewell :    Good  bye  ! 


WOMAN'S  RIGHTS  AS  QUEEN  REGENT. 

O,  say,  have  ye  seen  the  Queen  Regent  of  Earth  ? 

Who    from    time   immemorial    her  sceptre    hath 

swayed, 
Over  men  of  low  rank,  and  nobles  by  birth — 

The  one  whom  in  Eden  the  man  Adam  obeyed  ? 
I  know  some  poor  loafers  heed  seldom  her  law 

And  swear  they'll  not  yield  to  the  sway  of  her 

love ; 
But  there  ne'er  was  a  man  which  this  world  ever  saw 

Whose  manhood  her  sceptre  failed  always  to  move. 


THOSE   GOOD-FASHIOND   GARMENTS.  129 

Then  know  ye  the  power  that  governs  the  race, 

In  spite  of  "man's  rights,"  or  his  duty  to  reign  ; 
And  judge  ye  from  what  has  thus  e'er  been  the  case 

That  woman's  regime  shall  ever  remain. 
The  rights  then  of  woman  need  no  more  parade  ; 

For  history  doth  quite  conclusively  show 
That  as  Bve,  the  first  woman,  was  fondly  obeyed 

By  her  spouse,  the  very  first  man  that  we  know, 

So,  hereafter  'twill  be,  as  hath  been  in  the  past-- 

To  judge  of  the  future,  there's  no  better  way — 
And  we're  forced  to  conculde  that  the  man  who  is 
last 

Will  bow  to  the  last  woman's  wish  and  obey. 
'Tis  said   "the  gods  madden  whom  they  would  de- 
stroy ; ' ' 

That  "scepters  are  lost  by  presumption  of  fools  ;  " 
Then  woman,  if  wise,  will  count  it  her  joy 

To  save  to  her  sex  the  spell- secret  that  rules  ! 


THOSE   GOOD-FASHIONED   GARMENTS   OUR   GRAND- 
MOTHERS   WORE. 

I. 

'Tis  pleasant  for  youth  all  the  past  to  explore — 

Behold  th'  excellent  fruits  that  our  ancestors  bore — 

The  long  days  and  nights  devoted  to  toil, 

With  pine-knots  for  lights  when  they  hadn't  lard  oil ; 

And  so,  tho'  no  theme  to  illumine  with  lore, 

Let  us  sing  of  the  garments  our  grandmothers  wore. 

n. 

Round  hearths  always  happy,  and  sacred  and  free, 
As  every  home's  altars  and  hearth  stones  should  be, 
Those  "Grannies"  performed  with  grace  and  good 

will 

The  duties  of  stations  they  delighted  to  fill, 
And  thence  were  accustomed  their  God  to  adore 
Since  always  to  meeting  plain  garments  they  wore. 


130  HASKELL'S  POEMS— JUVENILE. 

III. 

Those  garments,  so  pleasing  in  Gaelic  plaid, 
Just  suited  the  persons  for  whom  they  were  made. 
No  bodies  half  severed  by  corsets  and  tape 
In  such  dresses  could  ever  be  drawn  out  of  shape  ; 
But  Nature  delighted  approvals  to  pour 
On   the   good   fitting   garments   our  grandmothers 
wore. 

IV. 

No  bustles,  nor  whale  bones,  nor  lacing  to  death 
Were   housed  in    those   garments  to  hamper  the 

breath, 

But  home-spun  and  pleasing,  and  happy  and  plain, 
In  fashion  forever — where  fashions  remain — 
They  lasted  to  wear  out  a  full  modern  score — 
Those   old-fashioned   garments   our   grandmothers 

wore. 

v. 

Then  cheeks  were  not  painted,  tho'  faces  were  fair  ; 
Then  hopes  were  not  blasted,  nor  led  to  despair  ; 
But  healthy,  and  happy,  and  winning  and  wise, 
Each  miss  a  true  matron  was  meaning  to  rise  ; 
And  God  deigned  to  bless  the  maids  even  the  more 
For  the  well  fitting  garments  that  our  grandmothers 
wore. 

VI. 

What  hardy  young  yeoman  would  hope  for  a  wife 

In  the  form  of  a  woman  half  laced  out  of  life? 

What  doctor  or  lawyer,  professor  or  priest 

But  longs  for  the  fabled  old-fashioned  ' '  Down  East, ' » 

And  prays  th'  Almighty  once  more  to  restore 

The  well  meaning  garments  our  grandmothers  wore? 


A  RARE  TOWN.  131 

OLD   BOXFORD  —  A   RARE   TOWN. 

"Newspapers  Will  Lie,  It  Sometimes  is  Said." 
"A  RARE  TOWN.— It  is  a  singular  fact  that  no  physician  or 
lawyer  ever  settled  in  the  ancient  town  of  Boxford,  Mass. ;  no 
citizen  ever  asked  for  a  license  to  sell  ardent  spirits  ;  no  native  of 
the  town  was  ever  sent  to  the  State  Prison  ;  no  one  was  ever  con- 
victed of  an  infamous  crime  ;  there  was  only  one  church,  and  all 
the  voters,  with  one  exception,  belonged  to  one  party." — A  West- 
ern Newspaper. 

I. 

Old  Boxford  had  ne'er  a  rum-seller,  indeed  ! 
Of  doctors  and  lawyers  she  then  had  less  need  ! 
Of  infamous  crimes  she  bore  not  a  stain  ; 
The  prison  and  alms-house  were  builded  in  vain. 
Her  parties  and  churches  all  blend  into  one  ! 
Of  discordant  sects,  indeed,  she  has  none  ; 
For  all  heed  the  bell  in  the  Orthodox  spire, 
And  if  they've  fierce  strife,  it  fans  but  one  fire. 

II. 

Old  Boxford!    She  stands  there  just  as  she  hath  stood, 
An  old  nest  of  Pilgrims  repeating  the  brood  ; 
"As  stiff  as  old  steelyards,"  as  "true  as  the  steel," 
Though    "pinching    their    shillings    until  they  will 

squeal ;"• 

Such  union  is  monotone,  both  solemn  and  sure  ! 
Yet  Boxford  must  be  a  borough  obscure, 
Where  once  in  a  life-time  their  ministers  change, 
And  their  reading  includes  in  religion  one  range. 

in. 
There  the  old  folks  and  young  folks  have  never   a 

doubt 

But  they  know  very  well  what  the  world  is  about ; 
While  of  grumbling  and  gadding  not  a  whit  can  there 

be, 

Since  the  women  and  wise  men  on  all  things  agree, 
And  every  town  office  is  filled  with  a  soul 
Who  feels  his  own  good  is  the  good  of  the  whole, 


132  HASK£Uv'S   POEMS  — 

However  small  compass  that  whole  may  contain, 
The  byrsam*  of  Carthage  or  Bushman's  domain. 

IV. 

As  sheep  gladly  follow  where  the  bell-wether  goes, 
So  the  people  all  sanction  what  their  magistrate  does  ; 
Only  one  legal  voter  moves  not  with  the  throng  ; 
And  I'll  sing  out  his  praise,  whether  righteous   or 

wrong : 

All  honor  to  him,  whoever  he  be, 
Who  will  vote  as  he  wills  in  this  land  of  the  free, 
If  he  casts  his  lone  vote  from  conviction,  he  ought, 
Or  does  it  to  honor  original  thought ! 

v. 

But  if  the  town  post-office  be  as  his  bait, 
Or  he  hanker  for  some  higher  office  of  State  ; 
I  would  quicken  his  conscience  to  country  and  God, 
Saying  :    Do  not  be  ugly  that  you  may  be  odd  ! 
To  Boxford,  old  Boxford,  be  welcome  my  song  ; 
O  may  she  live  happy  and  may  she  live  long  ; 
But  woe  be  to  the  journal,  if  it  's  false  that  I  read, 
For  "  Newspapers  will  lie,"  it  has  often  been  said  ! 


THE  RUM   SELLER  TO  HIS    RUINED  SOT. 

(Rum  Seller. ,) 

Old  Tipsy  with  his  crumpled  hat, 
Torn  coat,  old  shoes,  and  all  o'  that, 
And  unkempt  hair  a  frowsy  mat, 
Is  passing,  reeling  by  ! — 

Old  Loafer,  there  was  once  a  day 
You  did  not  look  so  blue  ! 

That  better  day  has  passed  away, 
Your  dimes  and  decence,  too. 


*  Dido  bargained  for  as  much  land  as  she  could  cover  with  a 
"bull's  hide"  (byrsam),  but  she  cut  the  hide  into  a  long  string 
and  enclosed  the  whole  site  of  Carthage. 


THE  RUMSELIvER.  133 

I  knew  you  when  as  nice  a  lad 
As  any  village  ever  had, 
But  now  your  manners  are  so  bad 
The  very  dogs  are  shy  ! 

Old  loafer,  there  was  once  a  day — etc. 

I  knew  both  you  and  your  young  wife, 
Walking  in  high  and  happy  life  ; 
Now  she  is  gone  !  and  you're  at  strife 
With  your  whole  history  ! 

Old  loafer,  there  was  once  a  day— etc. 

A  bloattd  sot,  with  blood-shot  eye, 
In  gutters  foul  you  often  lie, 
And  soon,  when  drunk,  are  sure  to  die 
In  utter  infamy ! 

Old  loafer,  there  was  once  a  day — etc. 

Your  early  comrades  stand  aloof, 
Your  drunken  rivals  reel  and  scoff, 
Your  shame's  so  great — come,  drink  it  off, 
And  then  lie  down  and  die  ! 

Old  loafer,  there  was  once  a  day— etc. 

You've  lost  what  sense  of  shame  you  had  ! 
A  maudlin  sot,  self-made  and  mad  ! 
Your  life's  a  contrast,  O,  so  sad  ! 
And  who  can  tell  us  why  ? 

Old  loafer,  there  was  once  a  day 

You  did  not  seem  so  blue ; 
That  better  day  has  passed  away, 

Just  like  the  morning  dew  ! 

(See  drunkard's  reply  on  next  page). 


134  HASKELL'S  POK MS  —  JUVENILE. 

THE   SOT   HAS   COME   TO   HIMSELF   AND   ANSWERS. 

(Old  Tipsy.} 

Does  Rummy  ask  why  I'm  so  bad, 
And  why  the  contrast  is  so  sad 
Between  a  sot  and  sober  lad  ? 
You  know  the  reason  well ! 

Old  Rummy,  I  have  seen  the  day 

I  did  not  feel  so  blue  ! 
That  better  day  has  passed  away, 

Because  of  thieves  like  you  ! 

I  by  your  liquor  tempted  came  ; 
In  your  saloon  lost  sense  of  shame  ; 
You  gaily  saw !  sought  out  your  game  ; 
You  tempted,  and  I  fell  ! 

Ah  !  Rummy,  I  have  seen  the  day — etc. 

You,  week  by  week,  and  year  by  year, 
Have  drawn  me  blind-fold,  staggering  here, 
Robbed  me  of  everything  that's  dear, 
My  Bible,  you  bade  me  sell ! 

Ah  !  Rummy,  I  have  seen  the  day—  etc. 

My  sense  thus  gone,  the  die  was  cast ! 
And  you  still  fleeced  me  to  the  last ! 
And  then  me  from  your  presence  cast, 
And  bade  me  :  "Go  to  hell !" 

Ah !  Rummy,  I  have  seen  the  day — etc. 

But,  lo  !  old  sinner,  I'm  not  lost ! 
I  am  awake  to  count  the  cost ; 
I'll  join  to-day  the  temperance  host, 
So,  Rummy,  now  farewell ! 

Ah  !  Rummy,  I  have  seen  the  day — etc. 

But  hold  !  a  minute  !  since  you  know, 
You,  too,  must  soon  be  lying  low, 


THE  FROSTED  TOBACCO.  135 

Pray  which  shall  be  the  first  to  go 
And  make  his  bed  in  hell? 

Ah  !  Rummy,  I  have  soon  a  day 

I  shall  not  seem  so  blue  ! 
The  better  day  is  on  its  way ; 

For  I  am  rid  of  you  ! 


THE   FROSTED   TOBACCO.      AFFLICTIONS   ARE   BLESSINGS    IN 
DISGUISE. 

(A  Real  Case.) 
On  the  fair,  fertile  plains  of  Connecticut  valley 

Resided  a  farmer  devoted  to  gains, 
Whose  wife,  when  a  maid,  was  called  "  Frugal  Miss 
Sally," 

Who  admired  his  esculents,  herbage  and  grains. 
His  bald  head  surmounted  a  frame  of  small  stature, 

His  visage  was  molded  to  exquisite  care  ; 
His  eyes  seized  beforehand  the  incomes  of  nature, 

And  seed  time  and  harvest  encompassed  his  prayer. 

Mine.  Sally,  his  consort,  by  far  overmatched  him, 

In  care  for  the  incomes  whenever  they  came, 
And  this  trait  of  hers  'twas  so  strongly  attached  him, 

It  led  him  to  offer  and  give  her  his  name. 
The  twain  were  well  mated — they  worked   well   to- 
gether, 

Were  very  hard  workers,  yet  knew  how  to  shirk, 
And  well  understanding  the  uses  of  weather, 

Both  in  doors  and  out,  kept  all  hands  at  work. 

Their    hirelings  were    young  folks,  below  one-and- 

twenty, 
Who  cared  for  their  interests  with  attention  and 

glee, 
And  so  could  enjoy  their  sleep,  toil  and  plenty, 

In  that  home  of  the  brave  in  the  laud  of  the  free. 

50 


136  HASKELVS    POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

The  pair,  patriotic,  much  hated  the  Roman 

Supremacy,  and  slavery  and  rum  ; 
And  said  :  "Every  preacher,  and  lawyer  and  yeoman 

Should  pray  against  these  till  deliverance  come  !" 

Their  conscience  forbade  them  to  use  an  umbrella, 

Whose  "  cotton  was  raised  by  the  manacled  slave," 
And  they  had  great  disgust  for  the  Pope,  Antoinelli, 
And    "that  devil-led   craft  that    fills    drunkard's 

graves." 
They  said,  perhaps,   less   than   they   suffered    about 

them, 

And  doubtless  felt  badly  to  see  them  increase  ; 
And,  were  war  not  expensive,  they'd  wish  that  to  rout 

them  ; 

In  view  of  the  cost,  they  cared  more,  though,  for 
peace. 

On  Sabbath  they  worshipped  far  up  in  the  corner  ; 

Their  motives  were  money  and  prominent  view, 
But  they  said  :  "We  prefer  to  sit  near  Deacon  Warner, 

The  poor  man's  so  good  he   sheds  grace  on  our 

pew." 
As  neighbors  they  knew  all  around  to  perfection, 

But  all  men  are  imperfect  they  know  very  well, 
And  saw  in  the  best  such  serious  objection, 

Their  chief  intercourse  was  to  borrow  and  sell. 

Yet  as  hosts  they  were  "kind  to  a  fault" — in  attentions, 
And  apt  to  commend  all  they  had  to  command  ; 

Put  on  a  few  airs — "  quite  averse  to  pretensions," 
Their  large  hearts  seemed  so  full  of  fat  acres  of 
land. 

Their  love,  sweet  as  honey,*  (not  easy  to  swim  in), 
Seemed  like  the  near  river,  that  never  would  cease  ; 

*  Edward  Payson  was  once  at  tea  where  his  hostess  was 
sweetening  his  cup  with  maple  molasses,  when  he  remonstrated, 
saying,  "Do  not  make  it  too  sweet,  please!"  and  got  the  re- 
sponse:  "  My  dear  sir,  if  it  were  all  molasses  it  would  not  be 
too  good  for  you." 


THE   FROSTED   TOBACCO.  137 

His  love  for  large  harvests  surpassed  that  of  women. 
Though  hers  was  quite  equal  and  on  the  increase. 

One  wet  summer  evening  a  young  poet  warmed  him, 

And  dried  his  damp  feet  by  their  dull  chips  of  fire, 
When  the  Madame — poor  Sally — with  much  weeping, 
informed  him 

That  her  "  forehanded  father"  was  about  to  expire. 
That  night  was  the  youth  waked  before  the  bright 
morrow 

By  sounds  near  his  door  of  one  sorely  distressed, 
Who  sobbed  the  most  wonderful  wailings  of  sorrow, 

Then  entered  his  room  in  overcoat  dressed  ! 

With  lantern  in  hand,  she  said,  looking  demurely, 

"  Dear,  sir,  we  are  dreadful  afflicted  to-night ! 
The  Angel  of  God  has  smote  us  most  surely  ; 

Do  pray  we  may  view  this  affliction  aright  !" 
The  youngster  replied  :  "I  perceive  you're  in  trouble  ; 

It  's  plain  in  your  looks  and  by  what  you  have 

said — 
I  fear  your  affliction  has  come  on  you  double, 

That  your  father  and  first  born,  are  both  of  them 
dead!" 

"O,  no  ;  it  's  not  that,"  quoth  poor  Sally,  so  serious, 

But  it  drives  me,  alas  !  almost  to  despair, 
To  think  that  God's  ways  are  so  wondrous  mysterious, 

And  blast  his  own  blessings  in  spite  of  our  prayer ! 
And  O,  won't  this  be  a  most  sorrowful  season, 

When  our  neighbors  arise  and  really  find  out 
What  Heaven  has  sent  us — and  ask  for  His  reason  ; 

Dear  me,  for  what  reason  ?  He  has  one,  no  doubt  !" 

And  then,  Madame  Sally,  convulsively  wringing 
Her  hands  near  his  pillow,  kept  sobbing  aloud, 

As  if  on  the  gallows  her  good  man  were  swinging, 
Or  sick  son  and  father  were  both  in  their  shroud. 


138  HASKELL'S    POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

< '  My  sore  stricken  Madame, ' '  still  said  the  young  poet, 
"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  the  Angel  has 
done  ! 

I'll  share  in  your  sorrow,  dear  soul,  let  me  know  it ; 
Is  any  one  murdered?    or  dead  any  one  ?" 

"  'Tis  not  death!"  quoth  the  weeper,  "for  we  are  all 

dying ! 

We  find  some  afflictions  much  stronger  than  death  • 
O  dear !    do  excuse  me  !    I  can't  keep  from  crying  ! 
This     is     so     mysterious !     I-can-ha-ard-ly-g-et 

breath  !" 
The  bard  interrupted  again,  and  most  kindly 

Suggested :  "  I  do  need  to  know,  Mistress  L — 
Don't  keep  me  suspensive — I  cannot  blindly 

Award   you   my   pity ;    what  grieves   you  ?    pray, 
tell !"      . 

<(Oh!    the   Lord  has   seen   fit,    for  what  reason  He 
knoweth, 

To  send  o'er  this  valley  an  untimely  frost ! 
Just  feel  of  these  plants  !    how  their  icy  crisp  showeth 

Our  vast  crop  of  tobacco  is  verily  1-o-st ! ! 

Alas  !    Our  tobacoo  is,  all  of  it,  lost !  ! !  " 
4 '  Is  it  so  ?    But  stop  crying,  one  minute  ! 

God  often  approaches  in  serious  surprise  ! 
Be  calm !    As  you  said  :  God's  hand  must  be  in  it ; 

Afflictions  are  blessings  sometimes  in  disguise  ! 

Afflictions  are  blessings  ofttimes  ih  disguise  !" 

She  guessed  at  his  meaning — and,  left  all  alone, 
Revolving  in  rhyme  what  the  Angel  had  done, 
He  benignantly  sung  to  himself  th'  above  song, 
Admitting  God's  right  to  do  well  with  man's  wrong. 

He  sang  of  Tobacco,  that  Bacchanal  thing, 
That  rivals  King  Corn  and  King  Cotton  as  king  ; 
And,  though  it  can't  feed  us,  nor  clothe  us  at  all, 
It  smokes  large  porteutions — with  purposes  small  ; 


THE   CONVICT.  13& 

It  is  really  subjected  to  serious  debate 

If  its  every  existence  be  not  curse  to  the  State, 

While  it  compels  to  its  service  men,    children   and 

maids, 
To  plant  it — to  pluck  it — to  place  it  in  grades — 

To  press  it — to  prink  it — to  soak  it  in  slimes — 
To  spit  it — to  smoke  it — all  seasons  and  climes — 
Surpassing  both  "Cotton"  and  "  Cornie  "  as  king — 
That  tyrant,  Tobacco,  that  Bacchanal  thing  ! 


THE   CONVICT  :    HIS   CALAMITIES   AND    CURES. 

(  Suggested  by  seeing  a  school-mate  sent  to  prison.) 

O,  that  I  might  be  blind  to  man's  disgrace, 

And  see  not,  know  not,  human  shame  or  woe  I 
I'd  be  a  hermit — could  I  find  a  place 

That  would  to  me  no  brother's  failings  show — 
An  anchoret — aye,  or  a  willing  slave, 

Were  my  master  other  than  a  mere  man, 
Of  my  own  kind,  mine  equal !    and  the  grave 

Without  a  coffin,  and  the  blighting  ban 
Of  mortal  envy,  as  an  urn  should  save 
My  ashes  from  the  fiendish  leer  of  many  a  knave  ! 

Ah  !  man  !  what  's  life,  when  all  its  sweets  are  gone  ? 

When  naught  remains  but  bitterness  and  shame  ! 
When  ne'er  again  the  day  of  hope  may  dawn 

Upon  the  wretch  who  bears  a  tarnished  name  ! 
Yes,  life  !    What  is  it  worth  to  one  who  knows 

He  's  lost  the  confidence  of  other  men, 
And  made  them  one  and  all  his  lasting  foes  ; 

No  matter  what  his  general  course  has  been, 
Nor  what  virtuous  acts  shall  crown  its  close, 
Or  what  cold  scandal's  breath  his  ardent  nature  froze  ! 


140  HASKELL'S   POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

I've  seen  gray  hairs  sinking  in  sorrow  toward  the 
tomb, 

And  sisters  pass  on,  mourning  all  their  days, 
Because  their  brother,  scarcely  gone  from  home, 

Had  turned  aside  in  some  forbidden  ways, 
And,  blind  to  arts  that  hardened  villains  use, 

Had  fallen  fatally  in  one  short  hour, 
By  counterfeits  he  felt  too  poor  to  lose  ; 

And,  subject  to  the  arm  of  legal  power, 
With  hope  quite  blasted,  bound,  handcuffed,  he  goes 
To  prison — there  to  work  and  wear  his  striped  clothes. 

I  see  him  now  !     Each  morn  he  leaves  his  nest 

Or  bunk,  and  speechless,  sprightless,  goes  to  toil, 
And,  for  long  hours  does  his  level  best, 

And  various  work  to  make,  or  nearly  spoil 
Coarse  iron  shovels,  garden  hoes  and  fire  tongs, 

And  wholesale  wood-work,  boxes,  baskets,  pails — 
Till  night  returns,  for  which  all  day  he  .longs  ; 

Then  in  his  cell  again,  all  night  bewails 
The  loss  of  day.     He  dreams  of  social  songs 
Which  once  he  loved  and  shared,  and  countless  happy 
throngs. 

I  see  him  !     In  his  bunk  he  lies  in  pains, 

With  thought  and  all  things  else,  as  deserts  are — 
Completely  cheerless.     Rattling  bars  and  chains 

Are  all  his  music — men  are  silent  there  ! 
All  night  he  sighs:    "Would  God  'twere   day    time 
now  !" 

All  day,   unheard,  he  says:    "Would  God  'twere 

night!" 
While  then  again,  in  longings  sad  and  low, 

Turning  from  side  to  side,  he  looks  for  light ; 
And  thus  he  wears  his  life  away  more  slow 
Than  wastes  that  noble  glow  of  youth  upon  his  brow  ! 


THE  CONVICT.  141 

I  see  him  still !     Day  after  day — long  weeks, 

And  months,  and  years,  he  wears  out  there  ; 
And  Time's  erasing  fingers  on  his  cheeks 

Bear  heavily  ;  he  is  pale  and  spare  ; 
His  mind  is  morbid  ;  vexed  with  bitter  hate, 

His  genial  nature  and  his  generous  soul  ; 
He  curses  penal  justice  and  the  State, 

And,  in  his  inmost  mind,  he  swears :  "Control 
Like  this  shall  hold  me  not !  This  horrid  fate  !" 
Then  thrusts  his  puny  fist*  against  his  iron  grate. 

"  Ho  man  !    O  fiend  !    Ho  devil !    I'm  insane!" 

He  says.     He  hoots  amid  his  solitude  ! 
He'll  never  be  confessed  a  man  again  ; 

How  can  he  be  a  man  of  gratitude  ? 
His  manly  nature  is  burned  out,  decayed, 

Quite  gone,  and  dead  !  aye,  haunted  is  his  cell ! 
His  skin  and  bones — a  home  for  demons  made — 

Are  clothed  in  dress  that  suit  the  devil  well — 
Till  he  shall  once  more  stalk  abroad— unpaid 
For  strength  he's  lost — for  pangs  he's  felt — for  things 
he's  made. 

I  see  him  !    till  he  leaves  that  penal  hall ! 

I  hear  men  asking  :  "  Is  he  still  a  man  ?" 
I  see  him  voiceless,  answering  with  a  fall 

Of  countenance  :  "I'm  not !    I  might  have  been  !" 
He  can  not  look  men  fully  in  the  face  ; 

He  thinks  they  loathe  him — for  he  loathes  him- 
self— 
And  could  he,  he  would  have  his  dwelling  place 

'Mong  Oriental  tombs,  and  on  some  shelf 
For  corpses  made,  would  clear  away  a  place, 
And  there  lie  dead  in  grave  clothes  of  his  own  dis- 
grace ! 


142  BASKET'S  POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

0  where  else  can  he  go  ?     His  native  town 

Disdains,  disowns  him  ;  his  old  friends  are  gone, 
Or  are  no  longer  friendly,  but  with  frown 

As  cold  and  keen  as  night  in  frigid  zone, 
The  business  world  begins  to  taunt,  to  tease, 

And  quiz  him,  saying:  "Whence  come  you  here, 

sir? 
What  might  your  father's  name  be,  if  you  please?" 

And  such,  unwittingly,  are  seers,  as  'twere  ; 
"A  penitentiary  bird  "  may  fly  with  ease, 
But  has  nowhere  to  rest  amo'ng  such  men  as  these. 

Suppose  he  do  confess  his  penal  sin, 

And  pledge  once  more  to  be  an  honest  man  ; 
To  win  the  confidence  of  men,  begin 

Where  he  a  dozen  years  before  began, 
He  still  may  fail !     Forgive  is  not  forget  ! 

And  such  distrust,  as  Eve  first  felt  toward  God, 
Is  felt  by  some  toward  even  good  men  yet ; 

And  if  he  seek  the  path  his  father  trod, 
Bnter  the  house  of  prayer,  where  once  he  met 
Without  a  look  of  shame  and  latent  keen  regret, 

How  many  frown,  and  turn  away  their  face, 

And  with  self-righteousness  would  seem  to  cast, 
O'er  their  left  shoulder,  with  no  Christian  grace, 

A  smirk  of  scorn,  whose  pang  for  months  doth  last, 
And  stir  up  malice  'gainst  his  best  desire, 

And  make  him  hate  the  very  thought  of  Church, 
Of  Sabbath  scenes,  and  all  that  would  conspire 

To  raise  his  hope  and  lead  him  yet  to  search 
For  manhood's  dignity  and  look  still  higher 
To  God's  redeeming  love  that  would  his  life  inspire. 

1  see  him  yet  !    There's  none  to  help  him  on 

From  vice  to  truth  ;  from  shame  to  self-respect ; 
For  all  distrust  him.     Confidence  withdrawn 
Compels  distrust  that  leads  to  cold  neglect, 


THE   CONVICT.  143 

He  leaves  the  Christian  Church,  with  hidden  tears. 

While  there  he  sees  his  parents'  vacant  seat — 
His  father's,  vacant  now  for  two  full  years — 

That  sire  is  dead  of  broken  heart !    To  meet 
The  cost  of  court  the  home  was  sold.    He  hears 
His  mother's  chastened  piety  the  poor-house  cheers  ! 

And  shall  he  visit  her,  or  let  her  die 

Unheeded  ;  dreading  even  her  distrust  ? 
He  wonders  if  that  proverb  is  a  lie 

Which  says  :     "Until  the  mandate  '  Dust  to  dust r 
Is  given,  a  mother'll  be  a  mother  still !" 

Half  doubting  this,  with  shame  and  hunger  faint, 
He  waits  till  sunset ;  then,  by  dint  of  will 

He  starts  half  clad,  half  fed,  with  silent  plaint, 
And  finds  the  place.    The  night  is  dark  and  chill. 
He  waits  till  morn  for  fear  she's  not  a  mother  still ! 

Meanwhile  she  has  a  vision,  and  she  dreams 

She  has  a  home  again — all  full  of  joy  ! 
Before  her  flow,  with  gentle  murmur,  streams 

Of  Paradise  ;  and  by  them  stands  her  boy, 
With  whom  her  heart  has  been  each  lonely  night 

Of  his  long  penal  bondage.     More  than  all, 
Her  consort  there  she  sees  in  garments  bright, 

And  glory  covers  him.     She  hears  him  call : 
"O,  hasten  home  !"     Near  her,  clothed  with  light 
Are  angels,  sent  to  speed  and  guard  her  flight ! 

'Tis  all  too  much  !    O'ercome  by  heavenly  charms, 
She  calls  the  matron,  makes  her  last  bequest, 

Her  Bible  ;  and  then  dies  with  folded  arms. 

The  morning  dawned  and  woke  from  dubious  rest 

The  mysterious  stranger,  who  had  meanly  slept 
In  a  neighboring  hay-mow.     With  haggard  look 

And  shivering  frame,  yet  eager  haste,  he  crept 

Down  from  the  barn-loft ;  all  his  muscles  shook 

51 


144  HASKELI/S  POEMS  — JUVENILE. 

From  fear,  as  much  as  frost ;  he  nervous  stept 
Before  the  alms-house  ;  at  its  gate  he  faltering  wept ! 

At  length  he  knocks,  and  hears  a  gentle  "Come  !" 

Which  cheers  him.    This  first  warm  word  for  years 
He  thinks  is  by  his  mother,  since  at  home 

She  always  used  it.     Smiles  threw  off  his  tears, 
And  he,  with  joy  of  childhood,  raised  the  latch 

To  enter — There  to  meet  his  mother  ?     Nay  ; 
But  one  whose  noble  faith  could  but  attach 

Her  heart  to  the  departed.  Oft  to  pray 
For  this  same  convict,  and  of  late  to  catch 
A  glimpse  of  him  returning,  both  were  wont  to  watch  ! 

As  he  first  crossed  the  threshold,  filial  love 

Impelled  him  ;  and  his  heart  with  hope  beat  high, 
His  lips  with  greeting  had  begun  to  move  ; 

And  ready  fancy  heard  a  fond  reply — 
From  lips  which  silent  now  and  dead 

Moved  not !  Imagination  quicker,  too, 
Than  even  thought,  his  arms  asunder  spread 

Already  to  embrace  her,  tried  and  true, 
Whom  loving  fancy  had  most  fondly  said 
Would  hasten  to  his  arms  with  fond  tho'  feeble  tread. 

I  see  him  yet !    He's  ghostly  pale  and  shocked 

With  disappointment !    In  a  flood  of  tears 
He  meets  the  one  who  answered  when  he  knocked 

And  bade  him  "come  !"    In  sight,  with  mark  of 

years, 
In  shroud  and  silence,  lies  the  lifeless  form  of  clay 

Which,  from  one  mark  upon  the  cheek,  he  knows 
Once  lived  his  mother  !     While  a  little  way 

From  this  he  sees  the  Bible,  whose  cover  shows, 
'Twas  never  in  a  napkin  hid.    A  ray 
Of  hope  this  gave.    It  said:    "My  mother  used  to 


THE  CONVICT.  145 

He  bowed  submissive  ;  kissed  the  lifeless  clay  ; 

Took  from  the  matron's  hand  that  last  bequest, 
Then  slow  and  cheerless,  turned  for  aye  away — 

Yet  this  sad  and  lonely  man  is  blest ! 
For  in  its  blanks  that  Holy  Book  contained 

A  mother's  pencilled  prayers  and  words  of  love 
And  forecast ;  these  within  his  heart  remained 

To  tell  him  he  had  loving  friends  above, 
And  urge  him  on  to  meet  their  welcome  there, 
Himself  a  trophy  of  maternal  love  and  prayer  ! 


What  can  be  done  to  lift  those  fallen  men, 

Who  in  some  unsuspecting  moment  fell? 
What  should  we  do  to  help  them  up  again, 

But  win  to  wisdom's  ways  and  wish  them  well? 
Remembering  what  they  were  in  days  of  old, 

Say  :    We  will  trust  you  far#s  you  are  tried 
And  worthy  found  ;  nor  should  you  judge  us  cold, 

But  take  the  word  of  God  as  daily  guide, 
Find  comfort  in  His  care,  His  aid  implore  ; 
Then  will  we  do  our  best  to  aid,  trust,  love  you  as 

before ! — 

They  have  a  right  to  this,  nor  will  the  worthy  demand 
more. 


HASKELL'S 


DOMESTIC  POEMS 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"Home,  home — sweet,  sweet  home- 
Be  it  ever  so  humble, 
There  's  no  place  like  home" 


Copyright  Secure,  1889,  by  Thos.  N.  Haskell. 


Electrotyped  by 
FRANK  REISTLE. 


PREFACE. 


These  poems  relating  to  home  life  have  been  de- 
layed till  now,  because  of  an  instinctive  aversion  to 
making  them  public.  They  were  mostly  private  pen- 
cilings,  prompted  by  some  momentary  impulse,  or 
hastily  written  for  sudden  occasions,  and  are  now 
issued  in  a  book  with  extreme  distrust  of  their  pro- 
priety, and  diffidence  as  to  their  utility  and  beauty. 
""[Their  illustration  has  been  left  to  the  taste  of  ex- 
perienced artists,  who  have  engraved  good  likenesses 
of  some  of  my  friends,  whom  they  selected,  from  the 
East,  West  and  South,  to  indicate  certain  traits  pecu- 
liar to  those  sections,  and  yet  all  American.  This 
was  done  without  the  knowledge  of  the  persons  im- 
plicated. So,  if  "  stolen  waters  are  sweet" — because 
only  such  are^worth  stealing — my  readers  may  thank 
their  stars  (the  artists)  for  pictures  of  persons  who 
would  not  for  a  world  have  put  themselves  in  such 
conspicuous  and  illustrative  positions. 

I  hope  both  the  pictures  and  poems  will  help  to 
impress  upon  the  popular  mind  the  supreme  import- 
ance of  domestic  life  in  this  country,  and  in  some 
measure  counteract  the  increasing  diversions  (by  se- 
cret societies,  theatricals,  club  rooms,  etc.,)  from 
family  joys  and  duties.  Socrates,  on  being  told  that 
man  cannot  find  his  ideal  here,  said  :  "  Yes,  he  can,  in 
the  ideal  family."  The  homes  of  America  have,  more 
than  usual,  approached  the  Socratic  and  Divine  models 
of  filial  and  parental  feeling.  Mrs.  Stowe's  question, 
''What  shall  we  do  with  our  Charlie?"  awakened 
responsive  sympathy  throughout  the  entire  coun  t  ry. 
As  long  as  "The  Moss-covered  Bucket"  and  "  Home, 
3 


4  PREFACE. 

Sweet  Home,"  are  heard  with  pleasure  and  deemed 
worthy  of  a  monument,  there  will  be  a  demand  for 
domestic  piety  and  poetry,  and  a  greater  "  freedom  of 
friendship"  therein  than  is  sought  in  other  artistic 
thoughts  and  suggestions.  Were  no  families  bereft, 
hearts  broken,  or  boys  and  girls  away  from  familiar 
scenes  and  actually  homesick,  the  case  would  be 
different. ;  but  so  long  as  Mother,  Home  and  Heaven 
are  as  dear  as  they  now  are.  a  sensitive  and  sensible 
author  will  fall  in  with  this  fellow-feeling,  and  as  he 
himself  in  his  writings  enters  the  hearts  and  homes 
of  the  people,  will  be  willing  they,  too,  should  have 
some  familiarity  with  his  heart  and  his  home  life, 
that  both  his  friends  and  his  feelings  may  have  part  in 
their  fellowships.  So,  let  me  say  to  my  readers  :  If  you 
give  to  these  pages  a  hospitable  welcome,  you  will 
find  evidence  therein  that  I  would  gladly  reciprocate 
your  hospitality  and  make  every  American  home  as 
happy  and  heavenly  as  may  be. 

Wishing  every  household — the  old  folks,  young 
folks,  children — to  be  helpful,  hopeful  and  happy,  I 
subscribe  myself, 


Ail  old  farm  house  with  meadow  wide, 
And  sweet  with  clover  on  each  side  ; 
A  bright-eyed  boy  who  looked  from  out 
The  door,  with  woodbine  wreathed  about, 
And  wishes  his  one  thought  all  day  : 
"  Oh  !  if  I  could  but  fly  away 

From  this  dull  spot  the  world  to  see, 
How  happy,  happy,  happy, 

How  happy  I  would  be  !" 

Amid  the  city's  constant  din, 
A  man,  who  around  the  world  has  been, 
Is  thinking,  thinking  all  day  long, 
"Oh  !  if  I  could  only  trace  once  more 
The  field  path  to  the  farm  house  door, 

The  old  green  meadow  could  I  see, 
How  happy,  happy,  happy, 

How  happy  I  would  be  !" 


DOMESTIC 


w& 


"SPUD." 

EQUESTRIAN*    ACQUAINTANCE. —  NED'S   QUESTIONS    TO 
"  SPUD." 

Do  not  you  remember,  "Spud,"' 

How  we. met  on  Zion's  Hill, 
Chafed  each  other  as  we  would, 

With  wit's  thrusts  and  words  that  thrill 
How  we  talked  of  learned  heads, 

And  of  late  attempts  at  lore  ; 
Of  high,  deep,  historic  deeds  ; 

Present  days,  and  days  of  yore  ; 
Of  all  special  kinds  of  sports, 

Walking,  riding,  and  croquet ; 
Of  the  rare  and  near  resorts 

We  could  distance  any  day  ; 
How  you'd  "enough  leisure  now  ;" 

And  good  horses  could  be  had — 
7 


HASKELUS  DOMESTIC  POEMS. 

"We  could  have  two,  any  how," 

Glorious  steeds  to  make  us  glad, 
One  a  grand  and  well  groomed  gray — 

Rare  and  elegant  to  ride, 
One  a  beautiful  fleet  bay — 

Suited  to  the  other's  side  ; 
How  we  marked  a  time  to  meet, 

Made  it  to  our  kindred  known, 
And  with  horses  fresh  and  fleet, 

Hid  from  gossip  of  the  town, 
With  old  Fido  near  our  feet, 

Deftly  rode  up  hill  and  down, 
From  among  the  marts  of  men  ; 

Flying  streets  where  students  flock  ; 
Dashing  down  toward  Devil's  Den  ; 

Racing  up  on  Sunset  Rock  ; 
Over  roads  on  Indian  Ridge  ; 

Sauntering  round  the  Sunshine  River  ; 
Breathing  on  the  Shawsheen's  bridge  ; 

Looking  down  where  lillies  quiver  ; 
Loping  round  the  limpid  lakes  ; 

Crossing  woods  and  copses  wild, 
Fragrant  with  bruised  ferns  and  brakes 

That  charmed  you  as  Nature's  child  ; 
How  we  watched  the  homeward  cows  ; 

Harvesters  hauling  their  hay ; 
Farmers  planting  fields  with  plows  ; 

Children  pleased  in  cheering  play  ; 
Then,  at  last,  up  Prospect  Hill 

To  look  off  upon  Old  Ocean, 
Where  we  felt  its  vastness  fill 

Our  sublime  and  deep  emotion — 
Till  the  lengthening  shadows  chill 

Even  the  birds  at  their  devotion  ; 
So,  when  they  were  seeking  rest 

And  their  songs  began  to  cease, 


EQUESTRIAN   ACQUAINTANCE.  9 

And  the  sun  sank  in  the  west  ; 

Then  in  twilight's  twittering  peace, 
As  our  tired  steeds  returned, 

We'd  decide  another  day — 
Which  we  fancied  they,  too,  learned, 

For  they  walked  fonder — the  way  ; 
How  next  in  your  waiting  place, 

When  your  whip  fell  to  the  ground, 
Faithful  Fido's  beaming  face 

Guarded  it  as  treasure  found, 
Till  Pet  Gray,  in  posture  grand, 

Points  his  ear  toward  echoes  near 
From  your  escort  nigh  at  hand, 

On  Charger  Bay,  chock  full  of  cheer  ; 
How  this  greeting  all  around 

lyike  a  second  nature  rose, 
Till  a  friendship  still  profound 

Crowns  our  life  unto  its  close — 
O,  "Dear  Spud,"  do  you  recall 

Those  equestrian  pleasures  then, 
And  relive  them,  each  and  all, 

Blessing  God  for  what  hath  been  ? 
Then,  this  picture  of  Pet  Gray, 

Fido  and  your  fonder  friend, 
And  your  own  ornate  array, 

Will,  not  only,  not  offend, 
But  to  many  a  deed  and  day 

Shall  both  life  and  sunshine  lend  ! 

— Ned. 


10 


HASKELL/S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 


NED'S   FIRST   AND   LAST   VALENTINE. 
I. 

To  fain  a  forgetting  with  hope  to  succeed, 

Like  regrets  for  regretting,  still  pays  the  more  heed  ; 

I  fained  to  forget  thee  ;  for  thus  I  agreed  ; 

But  kind  fates  would  not  let  me  effect  the  false  deed  ; 

For  each  leisure  hour,  with  love  on  its  wing, 

Possessed  the  strange  power  bright  visions  to  bring 

From  the  fields  of  the  past ;  and  each  time  where  we 

met, 

From  the  first  to  the  last,  lives  vividly  yet ; 
And  honest  affection  for  thee — still  for  thee — 
Forbids  the  reflection — She  thinks  not  of  me  ! 

ii. 

O,  the  sweet  sunny  hours,  the  deep  vernal  skies, 
The  forests  and  flowers,  where  love-lighted  eyes 


NED'S  VALENTINE-  11 

Together  were  glancing — joys  mutual  and  true — 
When  the  night  air,  advancing  through  twilight  and 

dew, 

Waved  gently  beside  us  as  we  sat  confiding, 
No  mortal  to  chide  us,  where  small  trees  were  hiding 
Our  sacred  retreat — but  the  woodman  had  been 
And  made  us  a  seat,  so  suited  just  then  ; 
When  you  left  in  my  power — you  do  not  forget — 
To  prolong  yet  the  hour — I  would  it  were  yet ! 

in. 

Rare  moments  like  those  with  the  one  I  most  love, 
Will  cheer  life  to  its  close,  and  make  sweeter  above 
The  glorified  air  where  glad  angels  reside, 
With  communion  their  care,  pure  affection  their  pride  ; 
While  dear  saints  we  have  known,  in  their  services 

here, 

Bend  down  from  their  throne  to  hark  to  our  cheer, 
In  our  utterances  true  of  emotions  as  pure 
As  the  hearts  where  they  grew  and  the  hopes  they 

ensure, 

So  chaste  and  so  choice  they'll  be  e'er  chanted  o'er 
By  sweet  daughters  of  voice,  the  swift  echoes  of  yore  ! 

IV. 

Aye,  'twere  easier  far,  to  rob  a  clear  night 

Of  its  most  brilliant  star,  than  steal  thee  from  my 

sight ; 
And  on  this  day  of  mating,  wrheii  the  beasts  and  the 

birds 

Their  proposals  are  stating  in  their  most  loving  words, 
I  would  not  forget  thee,  but  void  my  rash  vow  ; 
For  thy  words  will  not  let  me — I'm  hearing  them  now — 
And  whate'er  betide  me  on  life's  tossing  sea, 
Three  guerdons  shall  guide  me — God,  duty  and  thee  ; 
And  the  joy  of  my  life  (could  that  joy  but  be  mine) 
Would  be  :  Thee  for  my By  SAINT  VALENTINE. 


HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

SPOXSIO   ET   MEMORABILIA   ET   SPERABILIA. 
AD    A.    E.    E. 

(Interogata.) 


You  asked  my  muse  to  sing  a  song — 
A  rain-bow  round  retreating  showers — 

A  song  whose  memories  meet  and  throng 
In  days  gone  by  with  golden  hours. 


SPONSIO   ET   MEMORABILIA.  13 

You  wish  the  song  as  free  from  care, 

And  gay  as  light  upon  the  wing  ; 
A  child  of  friendships,  bright  and  fair, 

With  hands  well  filled  with  flowers  of  Spring  ; 
With  arms  encircling  golden  sheaves 

From  Summer's  ripening  fields  of  grain  ; 
With  steps  that  stir  the  Autumn  leaves, 

And  robes  that  sleigh  ride  o'er  the  plain. 

n. 

You  ask  a  song  of  many  a  scene, 

Which  we  have  studied,  side  by  side  ; 
Where  woods  are  hung  in  garlands  green, 

And  mirror  waters  moonlit  glide  ; 
Where  roads  meander  on  the  brow 

Of  sloping  upland,  copse  and  lawn  ; 
Where  fields  lie  furrowed  with  the  plow  ; 

Where  loads  of  fragrant  hay  are  drawn  ; 
Where  tinkling  bells  and  lowing  herds 

Call  back  again  the  childhood  sounds, 
That  mingle  still  with  merry  words 

And  rollic  o'er  old  romping  grounds. 

in. 
You  want  a  song  brim-full  of  life, 

Whose  lessons  we  have  loved  to  learn,. 
Where  Nature  keeps  her  constant  strife 

Of  song  and  service  in  their  turn  ; 
Where  bees  and  birds,  on  tireless  wingv 

Convert  their  labor  into  play — 
By  working  while  they  hum  and  sing> 

And  in  their  songs  bear  toil  away  ; 
Where  kindred  spirits  do  and  dwell  ; 

Where  rest  and  effort  interchange  ; 
Where  hearts  that  beat  and  hopes  that  swell 

Bring  Earth  and  Heaven  in  common  range. 

53 


14  HASKEUVS   DOMESTIC  POEMS 

IV. 
You  wish  the  song  a  casket  rare — 

To  keep  and  hold  for  many  a  year 
Those  cherished  words  of  love  and  prayer 

Which  fell  upon  our  Father's  ear  ; 
You'd  like  in  it,  besides,  to  find 

Those  holy  purposes  of  will, 
And  trenchant  thoughts  yet  in  the  miud, 

With  gems  of  wit  that  sparkle  still ; 
A  SDng  as  hearty  and  as  true 

As  our  best  friendships  ever  be, 
As  stainless  as  the  morning  dew, 

As  earnest  as  eternity  ! 

v. 
A  song  replete  with  every  good 

That  fair  Aurora  filters  down, 
As  high  o'er  forest,  field  and  flood, 

She  sprinkles  roses  o'er  the  town, 
Then  hastes  before  the  rising  Sun 

To  show  to  all  the  gods  and  men 
How  fast  the  steeds  of  Eos  run, 

How  soon  Tithonus  comes  again  ; 
Then  rises  fresh  from  night's  repose, 

And  lifts  another  golden  dawn, 
Like  that  when  the  Imoiauuel  rose, 

And  gave  to  life  its  deathless  crown. 

VI. 

Such  is  the  song  you'd  have  me  sing — 

Of  thought  and  life  that  e'er  shall  last, 
And  round  our  hearts  with  rythm  fling 

In  firmer  texture  all  the  past ; 
Till  friendship  weaves  the  warp  and  woof 

Of  every  season  into  song, 
Whose  fond  remembrance  lives  in  proof 

We've   shared   the   right   and  shunned  the 
wrong. 


SPONSIO   ET   MEMORABILIA.  15 

And  you  would  have  me  also  sing 

When  myrtle  wreaths  are  on  thy  brow, 

And  Heaven  bends  down  her  hand  to  bring 
The  friend  who  shares  thy  trothal  vow ! 

vn. 
Then  I  will  sing — before  His  face 

Whose  smile  on  us  so  oft  alone 
Distilled  around  his  heavenly  grace 

In  benediction  from  his  throne — 
And  I  will  ask  for  thee  and  me, 

Of  Him  who  is  both  mine  and  thine, 
That  all  my  song  "from  folly  free" 

Eternal  friendship  may  entwine  ; 
And  so  I  shall,  more  happy  still, 

Regard  thee  as  my  royal  friend, 
Late  given  to  one  in  heart  and  will 

Prepared  to  love  thee,  and  defend  ! 

VIII. 

The  wish  is  well !    My  heart  replies 

In  accents  willing  as  the  wind, 
In  hopes  that  reach  beyond  the  skies, 

Affections  deathless  as  the  mind  ; 
In  prayer  as  fervent  for  the  weal 

Of  one  I've  only  wished  to  bless, 
As  ever  Christian  heart  could  feel, 

Or  fervent  words  of  faith  express  ; 
In  gratitude  for  much  good  cheer 

Thy  faithful  words  have  fondly  given 
To  make  my  past  a  happy  year 

And  lift  my  life  far  into  Heaven  ! 

IX. 

Well  pleased  am  I  with  thy  bright  days, 
When  solemn  vows,  so  lately  made, 

Such  hallowed  expectations  raise 

That  thou  canst  say  :    "I'm  not  afraid 


16  HASKELIVS   DOMESTIC  POEMS. 

To  trust  the  man  my  troth  I  give  !" 

Confiding  soul !  so  true  and  fair, 
Those  new  and  noble  ends  to  live, 

All  born  of  Heaven,  hope,  love  and  prayer, 
Be  multiplied  as  time  proceeds  ! 

Thy  love  be  blended  as  thy  life 
With  his,  who,  sharing  soon  thy  deeds, 

In  law  and  love  shall  call  thee  wife  ! 

x. 
And  may  the  twain  most  truly  prove 

The  fitness  of  our  fervent  prayer, 
The  Lord  may  consummate  our  love, 

And  make  our  lives  as  one  His  care ; 
May  plenteous  mercy,  grace  and  peace 

Descend  on  us  and  ours  for  aye  ; 
Our  cup  of  blessings  full  increase  ; 

Our  "  light  shine  more  to  perfect  day  !" 

Such  is  my  song  !  and  such  my  seal — 
Of  memories  dear — of  hope  and  love  : 

No  mortal  could  more  fondly  feel 
That  we  are  one — here  and  above  ! 


A   HUSBAND'S   THANKS   FOR   HIS   WISE   AND   THOUGHTFUL    WIFE. 

(  Prov.  xxxi  :  10-31.) 
I. 

I  thank  Thee,  Father,  for  a  wife  of  virtue, 
Pure  gift  of  Thy  paternal  love  ! 
The  price  of  rubies — far  above 

All  costly  gems  is  her  affection's  value. 

Her  husband's  heart  doth  safely  trust  her  ; 
Such  confidence  is  due  my  wife — 
She'll  do  me  good  through  all  my  life, 

I  know,  for  Thou  Thyself  hast  blessed  her 

Her  heart  is  full,  for  highest  good  to  labor, 
The  stitch  in  time  is  with  her  hands, 
Her  thoughts  are  like  the  gales  from  lands 

Afar,  which  bring  rich  laden  ships  to  harbor. 


A    HUSBAND'S    THANKS.  17 

II. 

Before  the  dawn  she  oftentimes  ariseth, 

Nor  spareth  constant,  special  care  ; 

And  Thou,  O  God,  dost  know  her  prayer — 
Her  daily  vows  are  not  what  Heaven  despiseth. 
She  girdeth  up  her  frame  with  health  and  beauty  ; 

Her  nerve  she  strengtheneth  ;  good  seems 

To  her  her  mission  ;    morning  beams 
Of  day  stars  never  shone  more  fair  than  duty. 
She  reacheth  forth  her  hands  to  bless  the  needy  ; 

The  poor  shall  bless  her  outstretched  hand  ; 

For  Thou  Thy  blessing  dost  command 
On  those  whose  love  to  sons  of  want  stands  ready. 

ni. 
She  opeueth  her  mouth  in  modest  wisdom  ; 

The  law  of  kindness  rules  her  tongue  ; 

She  shall  rejoice  in  time  to  come  ; 
For  years  roll  by  her  light  and  bright  and  gladsome. 
Favor  's  deceitful,  so  is  beauty  fading  ; 

But  virtuous  actions  are  approved, 

And  loving  much  and  much  beloved, 
My  trusting  heart  shall  say,  with  truth  pervading 
The  crowded  sentiment,  like  crystal  waters, 

"  The  virtuous  deeds  are  many  done 

By  many  wives  beneath  the  sun, 
But  thou  excellest  all  earth's  fairest  daughters  !" 

May  God  accept  my  heartful  thanks,  thus   humbly 
given, 

And  make  me  ever  worthy  prove 

Of  such  a  helpmeet  and  her  love, 
And  bring  us  loving  still  through  life  to  Heaven  ! 


18  HASKEUvS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

THE  FIRST  BORN    BABY  — NOT  A  BOY.' 
I. 

When  "the  first  babe"  was  born,  a  fat  little  boy, 
A  sensation  was  caused  in  all  human  breasts ; 
Earth's  whole  fatherhood,  motherhood,  bursting  with 

joy. 

Called  angels,  archangels,  to  earth  as  their  guests. 
But  were  it  a  daughter — what  Eve  would  prefer — 

The  frail  little  creature,  unknown  yet  to  fame. 
Beloved  by  mamma,  had  cleft  closely  to  her, 

And  we  should  have  known  not  even  her  name. 
For  "Adam  begat  sons  and  daughters,"  we  know  ; 

But  the  names  of  the  latter  have  never  been  told, 
Their  standard  of  value  was,  perchance,  very  low  ; 

But  boys  were  esteemed  more  precious  than  gold. 

n. 

Yet,  "that  first  little  baby  ever  born  upon  earth" 
Was  a  rough  little  sinner — they  Christened  him 

Cain! 
While  the  next  was  a  creature  of  high  moral  worth  ; 

A  saint  and  a  martyr,  sore  hated  and  slain. 
If  such  be  the  freaks  of  the  fates  in  the  past, 

And  the  future  is  dark  to  our  dim-sighted  eyes, 
And  the  offspring  of  men,  from  the  first  to  the  last, 

Could  not  be  foreseen  to  what  lot  they  would  rise, 
We  should  cheerfully  say  :    Let  the  wife  have  her 

choice  ; 
Whether  daughters  or  sons,  a  wise  God  have  His 

way; 

For  with  either  we  tremble,  and  truly  rejoice, 
In  a  new  life  to  love,  to  live  for,  and  pray. 


THE  FIRST  DEATH  IN  THE  FAMILY.  19 

SHE  HAS  GONE  TO  HEAVEN   BEFORE  US. 

On  a  tablet  in  Andover,  is  written  : 


FLORENCE  EDWARDS 


Born  in  Washington,  March  5, 
Died  February  75,  1858." 


We  have  laid  to  rest  our  darling, 

Covered  o'er  with  turf  and  snow, 
And  forbidden  to  disturb  her, 

In  her  bed  so  dark  and  low  ; 
And,  though  lingering  in  the  valley 

Which  Death's  shadow  rests  upon, 
And  the  lights  that  shine  around  us 

Are  extinguished,  one  by  one, 
We  will  cheer  ourselves  by  thinking  : 

She  has  gone  before,  to  learn 
Her  first  language  of  the  angels, 

Who  have  no  such  word  as  ''mourn  !' 

And,  as  when  a  shepherd  beareth 

To  his  home,  from  hail  and  snow, 
The  dear  lamb  for  which  he  careth, 

And  the  dam  doth  thither  go  ; 
So,  fond  Savior,  we,  too,  follow 

Thy  steps  heavenward,  thither  still, 
And  Thy  holy  name  we  hallow, 

Willing  followers  of  Thy  will  ; 
Till  we're  sheltered  safe  at  last, 

With  the  lambkin  thou  hast  taken, 
Bleating,  from  Earth's  stormy  blast, 

Where  in  Heaven  we'll  all  awaken, 
Every  pain  and  peril  past. 


HASKKLL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 


WE   HAVE   TWO   MORE   LITTLE   LOVE   PETS. 

We  have  two  more  little  love  pets  ;  and  we  love  them 

very  much — 

In  all  old  Massachusetts,  there  are  no  other  such  ; 
Perhaps,  not  in  the  Nation  ;  I  doubt  if  the  whole  earth 
Can  show  a  generation  of  .better  rank  by  birth  ; 
Not  born  to  royal  liens,  but  veritable  Queens  ! 

They  rule  two  realms  together  ;  each  holds  the  other's 
throne  ; 

Their  subjects  know  not  whether  they  rule  as  two  or 
one. 

Whene'er  we  look  upon  them  we  find  their  sway  su- 
preme ; 

And  all  the  good  is  done  them  flows  to  them  like  a 
dream  ; 


THINKING   OF   GOD.  21 

Their  realms  are  home  and  hearts,  their  power  per- 
suasive arts. 

All  in  their  realms  attendant  upon  their  wants  and 

will 
Are  free,  and  yet  dependent ;    each  heart  of  home 

they  fill.  ' 
There  all  their  subjects  love  them  and  never  seek 

redress  ; 
By  night  they  watch  above  them  ;  by  day  their  doings 

bless  ; 

Each  pope*  and  mamina  knows  just  how  this  matter 
goes. 


"l   AM   THINKING   OF   GOD,"    SAID   HIS   LITTLE   PET. 

(Friday  Morning,  January  i,  1864.) 
"I  am  thinking  of  God  !"  little  Florence  declared, 

When  first  called  by  her  papa  at  dawn  ; 
And  so,  Heavenly  Father,  may  I  be  prepared 
To  think  of  my  God  till  my  life  watch  is  gone, 
And  the  morning  of  Heaven  comes  gloriously  on  ! 

"  I  am  thinking  of  God  !  don't  disturb  me,"  she  said, 
In  a  tone  as  if  grief  were  afraid  ; 

And  so,  Holy  Savior,  from  Thine  it  is  read, 
No  one  Thy  disciple  can  ever  be  made 
Who  their  parents  than  Thee  have  more  loved  and 
obeyed. 

"I  am  thinking  of  God!  don't  disturb  me,"  I'd  say, 
If,  in  truth,  I  could  say  it,  to  all ; 

And  would  ask  of  Jehovah,  as  well  as  I  may, 

That  with  that  little  thinker,  so  wise,  yet  so  small, 
I  may  think  of  Thee  most  in  each  morning's  first 
call. 


"  Pope"  is  papa. 

54 


22 


HASKELVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 


She   is   thinking  of  God !    don't  disturb  her  young 

thought ! 

Scarce  four  years  have  come  over  her  yet ; 
But  so  thoughtfully  silent,  her  soul  hath  well  sought 
To  be  nearer  to  God,  and  still  nearer  to  get, 
Which  proves  He  's  thinking  of  her  as  His  little 
pet. 


MY  LITTLE  SISTERS,    LUM   AND   SUM. 

Behold,  and  see  this  beauteous  sight ! 

Two  blended  sunbeams  every  day, 
Of  living,  pure,  prismatic  light — 

A  pair  of  sisters  out  at  play  ! 


ON   THE)   RIO   GRANDE.  23 

The  side-bound  twins  of  old  Siam 

Looked  scarcely  more  in  life  united  ; 

Nor  was  the  sister  of  Priam 

With  her  dear  brother  so  delighted. 

When  little,  they  so  lived  and  loved, 

When  larger,  they  so  loved  and  sang, 
That  if  over  the  fields  they  roved 

The  happy  hills  in  halo  rang  ! 
Their  lives  thus  so  together  run, 

And  puzzle  so  their  sire  and  mother, 
That  "Sum  of  goodness  "  seems  the  one, 

And  "  Lump  of  sweetness  "  looks  the  other. 

So  "  Lum  "  and  "Sum,"  with  sweet  good  will, 

Shall  blend  their  life,  like  morning's  shining, 
And  even  through  death  will  be  one  still, 

Their  lives  and  love  still  intertwining. 
To  have  such  sunshineTiere  each  day, 

As  so  sweet  girls  have  sometimes  given, 
Is  worth  a  world  upon  our  way 

To  help  us  on  and  up  toward  heaven  ! 


LIFE  ON  THE  RIO  GRANDE. 

[An  impromptu  on  seeing  a  beautiful  engraving  representing 
pioneer  life  over  the  above  title.] 

I. 
Full  well  I  remember  the  deep  shady  forest, 

The  prairie  that  fringed  it  with    brush-wood  and 

lawn, 
The  swarthy  complexion  of  the  young  stalwart  hunter, 

Who  laid  at  my  feet  a  beautiful  fawn, 
Whose  likeness  might  challenge  the  loveliest  maiden, 

With  form  and  gay  features  like  stoned  gazelles  ; 
With  heart  pierced  and  silent  that  throbbed  yester 

even, 
And  beat  cheerful  marches  in  wilderness  dells. 


24  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

No  wonder  that  woman  looks  sad  at  its  dying, 

And  unhardened  boyhood  should  pillow  its  head, 

While  girlhood  stoops  over  the  place  where  it's  lying 
And  asks,  with  hands  folded  :  "O,  dear !  Is  it  dead?" 

II. 
Full  well  I  remember  the  deep  shady  forest, 

The  hemlock,  the  shanty,  the  cross-poles  and  fire, 
The  matron,  the  children,  the  young  stalwart  hunter, 
The  tall  trees  that  trembled  'ueath  strokes  of  the 

sire ; 

And  oft  I  am  cheered  by  those  scenes  of  my  child- 
hood, 
Where    Nature   stands    laughing    or    saying    her 

prayers, 
According  t'  our  feeling,  or  fancy,  or  guessing — 

Those  emotions  of  children  that  come  unawares  ; 
For  brighter  and  sweeter  than  gas-light  and  candy 
Were  pine  knots,   and  shag-barks,  and  crusts  in 

the  hand, 
When    I    lived    near  the    banks  of  the    North    Rio 

Grande,* 

And  caught  fish  and  bad  colds  in  the  big  River 
Grand. 


"BREAD    PILLS," 
OR   A   POOR   HYPOCONDRIAC   HEALED. 

In  a  palace  of  plenty,  one  damp  summer  day, 
A  poor  hypocondriac  anxiously  lay, 

And  panting  for  air, 
When  the  doctor  with  pill-bags 
Was  crossing  the  street-flags 
To  keep  her  in  care. 

*  The  Rio  Grande  and  its  family  here  described  weie  between 
Mexico  and  Texas,  but  the  author  by  a  ready  fancy  transfers 
the  scene  to  the  home  of  his  childhood  near  the  Grand  River  in 
Northern  Ohio,  emptying  into  Lake  Erie,  and  a  bathing  resort. 


BREAD   PILLS. 

"O,  dear  !  dear  me  !"  Madame  Hysterical  cried  ; 
"But  for  that  good  doctor  I  long  since  had  died  ! 

Yet  I  am  aware 
That  this  morning  I'm  paler 
And  feel  so  much  frailer, 

He  now  will  despair  !" 

But  just  then  the  importunate  shakes  of  the  bell, 
A  dignified  nod,  made  carelessly  well  ; 

The  choice  of  a  chair  ; 
The  tame  process  of  testing 
Her  weak  pulses  and  resting, 

And  what  she  could  bear, 


25 


Were  done  all  with  that  exquisite  learning  and  grace, 
And  very  grave  thoughts  on  his  tongue  and  his  face, 

Such  as  Galen  would  wear. 
But  he  sat  without  blinking, 
I/ike  an  owl,  and  was  thinking 
What  "dose"  to  prepare. 

Both  his  drops  and  his  pills,  tho',  were  carefully  mixed 
Long  before,  at  his  office,  designedly  fixed 
In  forms  full  of  care  ; 


26  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

Pills — rye  bread  aiid  ashes  ; 
Drops — mint  and  molasses, 
In  water  to  spare. 

Says  the  patient :  "Dear  doctor,  I  can  not  get  well ! 
But  if  there  be  hope,  do  my  anxious  friends  tell ; 

For  I  can  not  bear 
The  thought  of  to-morrow, 
When  my  mourners,  in  sorrow, 
My  shroud  shall  prepare  !" 

"Just  so,"  says  the  doctor,  giving  phials  a  click, 
"I  know,  my  dear  Madame,  you  feel  very  sick, 

But  do  not  despair  ; 
For  it  is  my  conviction 
I  can  heal  your  affliction, 

With  those  drops  and  pills  there." 

"  Uh  !    Why,  doctor,"  she  answered,  "you'd  dose  me 

to  death  ! 
I'm  so  weak — even  now — I  can  scarcely  draw  breath  ! 

I — never — can  bear 
Pills  !  and  drops  !  by  the  phial  ; 
And,  sir,  of  the  trial 

You  ought  to  beware  !" 

"  Aha  !  then,"  says  the  doctor,  so  pleasant  and  plain 
She  could  not  surely  mistake  him  again  ; 

"I  think  you  might  dare 
To  stop  breathing,  if  it  hurts  you  ; 
I'll  pledge,  on  my  virtue, 

Nobody  would  care." 

"Why,  Old   Doc,"  quoth  the  Madam,  "'twould  give 

you  delight 
To  kill  me  !    You  can't!   I  will  live  out  of  spite  !" 

'Tis  needless  to  tell, 
How  the  subject  so  sickly, 
Ceased  doctoring  quickly — 
And  quickly  got  well. 


THE   GOOD   PHYSICIAN.  27 

But  the  doctor  was  jesting,  ungentlemanly,  too, 
And  too  matter  of  fact  to  play  his  joke  through  ; 

Though  this  we  must  say  : 
In  the  fact  of  her  healing 
All  depended  on  feeling, 

Tried  in  whatever  way. 


PER  COXTRA  :  "THE  GOOD  PHYSICIAN." 

'A  friend  in  need  's  a  friend  indeed  !" 
My  brother,  with  a  broken  arm, 
Dispatched  a  special,  with  due  speed, 

And  soon  a  surgeon — like  a  charm — 
Had  splints  and  bandages  applied 

So  well,  that  soon  the  arm  was  well, 
And  fit  his  fiery  steed  to  ride  ; 

By  whose  base  fault  the  harm  befell. 
My  sister  was  severely  ill, 

And  at  Death's  door  for  days  she  lay  ; 
The  doctor,  with  distinguished  skill, 

Brought  deeds  of  brightness  every  day, 
Till  the  dark  pall  of  Death  arose, 

That  over  our  whole  household  hung  ; 
And  ne'er  a  patient  healed  but  knows 

How  close  we  to  that  doctor  clung. 
So  when  our  parents  sickened,  died, 

That  good  physician  still  was  there, 
Sitting  so  kindly  at  their  side, 

To  aid  both  Providence  and  prayer, 
Until  the  cruel  crisis  turned 

Against  our  hopes  in  their  behalf; 
And  then  how  lovingly  we  learned 

From  him,  as  if  our  Lord  himself, 
That  soon  their  struggling  strength  would  rest, 

Their  dying  agony  would  cease, 


28  HASKELVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

Their  spirits,  borne  among  the  blessed, 
Would  pass  into  eternal  peace. 

When  thrice  a  doctor  healed  my  child, 
Of  three  diseases,  threatening  death, 

I  say,  not  only,  he  is  skilled  ! 

But  follow  him  with  praying  breath  ; 

Our  hearts  with  gratitude  are  filled. 


FRATERNAL   LOVE. 

(A  Better  Postcript  to  my  Little  Sister,  Lucy  Proctor.) 
I. 

NEVER  UNSAFE  AND  NEVER  ALONE. 

This  morning,  de^r  Lucy,  I  took  my  first  start 

For  scenes  where  such  masses  reside, 
That  I  heard  your  anxious  and  innocent  heart 

Ask,  silently  sighing,  "What  ills  will  betide 
My  poor  brother  'mong  so  many,  alone  !" 

But  learn  thou  the  words,  how  "the  Lord  doeth 

well  !" 
He  guardeth  and  guideth  with  care  ; 

My  way  He  controlleth,  my  wants  He  can  tell, 
He  seeth,  He  heareth.  He  is  everywhere  ; 

So,  I'm  not  in  the  city  alone ! 

My  person  I  put  with  good  care  in  the  cars, 

And  am  rushing,  "hot  hoste,"  to  the  town, 
While  my  spirit,  wing-footed,  like  Hermes  or  Mars, 

Is  flying  o'er  scenes  of  historic  renown, 
And  I'm  never  alone,  even  when  I'm  alone  ! 

Then  Lucy,  ne'er  worry!    "The  Lord  will  pro- 
vide !" 
For  He  is  beside  us,  by  night  and  by  day, 

Almighty  as  guardian,  all- wise  as  a  guide  ; 
Then,  where'er  He  sends  me  I'm  happy  to  say  : 

I'm  never  unsafe  and  never  alone  ! 


FILIAL  PIETY.  29 

II. 

AND   SO  I   SING   THE   PSALMIST'S  SONG. 

1  Lord,  Thou  hast  searched  and  seen  me  through  ; 
Thine  eye  commands,  with  piercing  view, 
My  rising  and  my  resting  hours, 
My  heart  and  flesh,  with  all  their  powers. 
Within  Thy  circling  power  I  stand, 
On  every  side  I  see  Thy  hand  ; 
Asleep,  awake,  at  home,  abroad, 
I  am  surrounded,  still,  with  God  ! 
O,  may  these  thoughts  possess  my  breast,. 
Where'er  I  rove,  where'er  I  rest ; 
Nor  let  my  ardent  passions  dare 
Give  up  to  sin,  for  God  is  there  !" 

•         — [Psalni  cxxxix. 


FILIAL  PIETY. 
I. 

MY   MUSING  AT    MY    PARENTS'    MONUMENT,    WHEN    FIRST    SEEN 
AS   A   SURPRISE  IN   THE   MARBLE   YARD,  WARREN,  OHIO. 

Oft  in  the  uncertain  tour  of  life 

'Tis  good  to  stand  beside  the  graves 
Of  the  departed — there  review  the  strife 

Of  men  for  ends  ambition  craves  : 
'Tis  good  to  do  this  ! — good  at  least  for  one 

Who  feels  himself  a  stranger  iu  an  age 
Of  strangers  ;  aye,  and  who  would  coolly  shun 

A  tomb-stone's  reminiscent  page? 
Oft  times  a  bier,  a  broken  shaft,  has  taught 

Me  lessons  worth  one's  while  to  know ;; 
And  here,  a  youthful  invalid,  I've  sought 

The  shades  of  death  that  art  doth  show, 
In  marble  yards,  the  stranger,  who  may  call 

To  mark  the  skill  of  sculptor's  hands, 
With  deep  emotion,  or  with  none  at  all, 

To  trace  inscriptions  while  he  stands 

55 


30  HASKEI,I/S   DOMESTIC  POEMS. 

Admiring  or  forgetting  to  admire, 

Absorbed  in  flitting  thoughts  that  fly 
To  distant  mourners,  who  he  feels  require 

At  least  one  thought  of  sympathy. 

II. 
So  here  I  stood  and  read  with  peace  that  thrilled 

Through  my  whole  being— happy  hour  ! — 
A  gentle  reverence  for  the  dead,  that  filled 

My  pulsing  heart,  had  in  its  power 
My  each  emotion — till,  as  I  turned 

To  walk  away  from  what  awoke 
Such  heavenward  peace,  my  eye  discerned 

Two  polished  marble  shafts  that  spoke 
The  names  of  fond,  familiar  ones  of  home — 

The  sainted  sire — his  suited  bride — 
My  Parents  !  in  time  past — in  time  to  come — 

The  treasures  of  my  heart,  my  pride  ! 
These  stones  speak  now  as  stars  could  not ; 

Nor  sea  nor  sky  could  show  so  well, 
Or  symbolize  my  whole  life's  lot, 

And  speak  it  in  one  intense  spell. 

in. 
My  Father,  thou  art  with  me  now : 

Thy  form  so  manly  seemeth  here, 
And  to  thy  voice  my  ear  doth  bow, 

To  words  of  counsel  and  good  cheer, 
And  prayer  to  Heaven.     The  altar  dear 

To  thee,  with  incense  freshly  glows, 
And  Hope  now  happy  hovereth  near, 

And  heavenly  music  earthward  flows, 
Responsive  to  thy  spirits'  prayers 

That  erst  throbbed  upward  to  the  throne 
Of  God  to  be  embalmed  with  the  saints'  tears 

That  are  there  bottled  with  thine  own. 
I  loved  thee  well,  but  can  not  weep  ; 

My  filial  tears  forget  ,to  roll  ; 


FILIAL   PIETY.  31 

Affection's  fountains,  full  and  deep, 

Flow  soft,  yet  tearless,  through  my  soul. 
But,  stop  !    Behold,  the  tears  will  start ! 

Here  on  the  marble,  too,  appears 
My  Mother's  name,  whose  inmost  heart 

Used  melt  into  my  morning  years, 
Like  the  rich  dew  in  rising  days  ; 

For  both  flow  now  my  filial  tears  ; 
For  thee  and  her  whom  thou  didst  praise  ! 

IV. 

My  tears  thus  started,  as  I  stood 

And  on  her  name  my  full  eyes  gazed  ; 
A  name  so  gracious,  noble,  good, 

That  all  who  knew  her  loved  and  praised. 
O,  Mother,  how  I  wept  for  thee  ! 

And  though  I  could  not  wish  thee  here 
Again,  I  sighed  :     "Ah,  can  it  be 

That  this  is  all  of  one  so  dear?" 
I  sigh  and  sing  for  home,  sweet  home, 

And  try  to  bring  the  broken  treasure 
As  I  arise  and  henceforth  roam 

Bereft  of  place,  bereft  of  pleasure  ; 
I  see  the  distant  open  door 

Inhaling  health  from  fields  and  flowers, 
As  I  shove  off  from  life's  young  shore 

And  mix  the  past  with  passing  hours. 
For  who,  when  urged  with  aching  oars 

Adown  life's  deep  and  rapid  river, 
Can  e'er  forget  the  fragrant  flowers 

That  in  its  very  edges  quiver, 
And  who  that's  human  can  forget 

His  father  and  his  faultless  mother, 
Whose  pulse  of  kindness  beateth  yet 

In  tender  love  no  time  can  smothtr? 


32  HASKEUVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

V. 
Affection  fills  my  font  of  joys 

With  flowers  where  Tempe's  vale  is  sleeping, 
And  pleasing  memory  employs 

Fond  scenes  for  which  I'm  weeping  ; 
While  Hope  points  her  right  hand  to  Heaven, 

And  stands  abreast  her  stalwart  anchor, 
And  Faith  guides  to  what  God  hath  given 

In  bonds,  signed  by  my  Sovereign  Banker  ; 
And  sainted  ones  in  Heaven  now, 

Who  taste  no  more  of  temporal  sorrow7, 
Seem  breathing  warm  upon  my  brow, 

And  bringing  on  a  bright  to-morrow. 
Soon,  soon  their  forms  in  fact  I'll  see 

As  we  once  saw  and  sought  each  other, 
My  voice  shall  then  shout :  "Victory  !" 

With  thee,  my  Father,  and  my  Mother  ! 

THOSE   ANCESTORS   OF   MINE. 

"  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour, 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 
My  ancestors  are  many  millions  strong  : 

I  had  two  parents,  they  two  each,  at  least,  * 


*  Everyman  has  two  parents,  four  grandparents,  eight  great- 
grandparents,  sixteen  great-great-grandparents,  thirty -two  great- 
great-great-grandparents,  etc.  If  we  reckon  twenty-five  years  to 
a  o-eneration,  and  carry  on  the  above  calculation  to  the  time  of 
William  the  Conqueror  of  England,  it  will  be  found  that  each 
living  person  must  have  had  at  that  time  even  the  enormous 
number  of  35,0000,000  ancestors.  Make  the  usual  allowance  for 
the  crossing  or  inter-marrying  of  families  in  a  genealogical  line, 
and  for  the  same  persons  being  in  many  of  the  intersections  of 
the  family  tree,  still  there  will  remain  a  number  at  that  period 
even  to  cover  the  whole  Norman  and  Anglo-Saxon  races.  What, 
therefore,  might  have  been  pious,  princely,  kingly  or  aristocratic 
stands  side  by  side  in  line  with  the  most  ignoble,  plebian  or 
democratic.  Each  man  for  the  present  day  may  have  had  not 
only  barons  and  squires,  but  even  crowned  heads,  dukes,  princes 
or  bishops,  or  renowned  generals,  barristers,  physicians,  etc., 
among  his  ancestors. 


THOSE   ANCESTORS   OF   MINE  33 

And  so  the  geometric  list  is  long, 

With  probably  a  baron,  prince  and  priest, 
And  minstrel,  musical  with  song, 

And  financier,  who  lived  to  hoard  and  feast — 
I  hope  no  wretch  that  lived  by  doing  wrong  ! 

But  still,  I  must  admit,  from  this  array, 
A  motley  set,  those  ancestors  of  mine  ; 

Indeed,  they're  but  an  average  display, 
As  I  look  over  the  long  dubious  line 

Unto  an  early  day,  so  far  away, 
And  good  and  ill,  compare,  contrast,  combine  ; 

And,  so  with  others,  I  will  simply  say  : 
'  My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned  and  rulers  of  the  earth  ; 

But  higher,  far,  my  proud  pretensions  rise — 

The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies." 


DEDICATION   HYMN   OF   Y.    M.    C.    A   HOME. 

(Tune,  "Woodlawn.") 

Almighty  Builder  of  the  skies 

Bend  down  Thy  lofty  dome, 
And  view  our  lowly  sacrifice, 
An  offering  Thou  wilt  not  despise  ; 

We  give  Thee  this,  "  Our  Home  !  " 

We  thank  Thee  for  Thy  helping  hand 

And  providential  care, 
By  which  our  building  now  doth  stand, 
The  fit  abode  of  such  a  "  Band 

Of  Brotherhood  and  Prayer!" 

Come,  dwell  within  its  sacred  walls  ; 

Here  make  Thy  goodness  known  ; 
Ivive  in  its  volumes,  in  its  halls ; 
Send  thence  Thy  love's  most  winning  calls, 

And  keep  the  place  Thine  own  ! 


34  HASKELIAS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

And  now,  before  Thy  mercy  seat 

And  in  this  holy  place, 
In  Jesus'  name,  we  do  entreat, 
That  here  our  God  will  daily  meet 

His  children  face  to  face  ! 

And  gather  in  this  peaceful  fold 
Those  wandering  far  abroad, 
Till  blessings  more  than  it  can  hoklr 
And  richer  far  than  pearls  or  gold, 
It  shall  give  back  to  God  ! 

O  stud  the  Nation  with  these  stars 

Of  piety  and  peace, 
Till  by  their  light  unholy  wars, 
And  vice,  which  every  beauty  mars, 

Shall  in  all  nations  cease  ! 


SIC  ANNUS  MORIBUNDUS.      1860. 

For  several  years  the  author  wrote  impromptus  on  the  eve 
and  morn  of  the  Old  and  New  year.  The  following  are  founded 
on  two  interesting  sights,  and  the  issues  of  peace  and  war  at  the 
juncture  1860-61.  The  sights  were  :  First,  an  old  woman,  in  a  sack 
a  little  child  slung  over  her  prone  back,  herself  stooping  at  every 
step,  as  if  beckoning  for  her  grave  ;  and  second,  a  gold  thimble 
used  by  numerous  successive  dames,  till  it  came  as  an  heirloom 
now  to  an  industrious  and  beautiful  damsel,  who  will  probably 
hand  it  with  increasing  value  down  to  yet  other  daughters  of  the 
land.  With  these  illustrations  we  improvise  and  sing  : 

THE   OLD   YEAR   AND   THE   NEW. 

(Dec.  31,  1859.) 

It  is  a  form  of  melancholy  sadness, 

With  frosted  locks,  this  old  departing  year  ! 

Her  children,  full  of  childish  faith  and  gladness, 
Are  swung  upon  her  back,  unconscious  of  a  fear ; 

So  a  poor  mother  passed  my  door  to-day  ; 

A  foul  sack  she  bore,  in  which  her  infant  lay. 


THE   OLD   YEAR   AND   THE  NEW.  35 

Her  form  was  prone — as  pressing  toward  her  grave, 
And  all  the  creature  wished  was  her  dear  child  to  save. 
Soon  she  will  die  and  dwell  among  the  dead ! 

Her  child  shall  turn  its  face  to  many  a  storm  ; 
Ten  thousand  deeds  will  in  its  footsteps  tread, 

And  mark  with  jest  its  future  aged  form  ; 
The  mem'ry  of  its  mother,  with  all  her  loads  of  care, 
Her  virtues  or  her  vices,  her  blasphemy  or  prayer, 
Will  fan  its  brow  when  dying  and  breathe  on  those  it 

bears, 

Till  even  children's  children  shall  shoulder  the  same 
cares. 

Such  seem  the  way-worn  seasons, 

And  such  the  loaded  years  ; 
Each  has  sufficient  reasons 

For  mingled  joy  and  tears  ; 
And  all  their  happy  daughters 

That  o'er  their  backs  are  slung, 
Shall  taste  sweet  bitter  waters 

When  their  own  heirs  are  young. 

But  still,  there  is  a  bright  side 

To  all  that  casts  its  shades  ; 
And  through  each  golden  light  tide 

Each  New  Year  fairly  wades — 

A  goddess  with  her  maids. 
Then  take  a  brighter  symbol, 

Of  this  departing  year  ; 
Here's  a  maiden  with  her  thimble, 
Used  by  dame  and  grand-dame  dear, 

To  work  for  others'  cheer. 

That  jewel  is  a  treasure, 

Where'er  its  lot  is  cast, 
Transmitting  golden  pleasure 

From  fingers  of  the  past, 

To  her  who'll  wear  it  last. 


36  HASKEl/Iv'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

A  memento  forever,  as  long  as  it  shall  be, 
Inscribed  :  ' '  Forget  me  never  ! "  its  base  a  ring  you  see, 

Implies  Eternity ! 

A  golden  horn  of  plenty,  filled  with  the  lapse  of  years, 
With  fruits  and  flowers  dainty,  and  dewy  it  appears 

With  mingled  sweat  and  tears. 

From  those  dear  dying  mothers  (we  see  their  sewing 

yet) 

Their  daughters  hand  to  others  the  sacred  signs  they 
get, 

Of  years  together  met. 
Sic  Annus  Moribundus  ! 

Dear  dying  year,  indeed,  in  dying  deigns  to  hand  us — 
What  everyone  should  heed -its  tools  for  times  of 
need! 


THOUGHTS   AT   THIRTY-FIVE. 

Just  thirty-five  to-day ! 
The  half  of  three-score  years  and  ten 

Has  winged  itself  away, 
And  left  me  'mong  the  ranks  of  men. 

The  other  half  may  lie 
Across  the  boundary  of  life  ; 

Indeed,  I,  too,  must  die 
And  leave  these  scenes  of  strife — 

Perhaps  while  in  my  prime  ; 
Yet  if  I  gain  full  four-score  years, 

All  my  allotted  time, 
I'll  patient  wait  till  He  appears, 

Who  half  the  lifetime  gave, 
And  crowned  it  with  such  tender  care  ; 

He  guides  me  to  the  grave 
And  guards  my  slumbers  even  there. 

He  knows  when  life  should  cease, 


THE  WIDOW  OF  NAIN.  37 

Who  gave  my  life  and  being  birth  ; 

He  knows,  and  will  release 
My  fettered  soul  and  lead  it  forth 

To  endless  life  and  peace, 
For  tribulation  is  of  earth. 

My  times  are  in  His  hand  ; 
He  knows  the  measure  of  my  days  ; 

I  came  at  His  command  ; 
My  death  shall  show,  indeed,  His  praise. 

Just  thirty-five  to-day  ! 
The  past  arises  in  review  ; 

The  future  seems  to  say  : 
Come  on  !    Be  trustful !  brave  and  true  ! 

Its  bidding  I'll  obey. 


THE  WIDOW   OF   NAIN    WITH   HER   ONLY   SON   AND   THEIR 
SAVIOR. 

[The  day  after  Jesus  went  into  the  city  of  Nain  and  when 
He  came  nigh  to  the  gate,  behold  there  was  a  dead  man  carried 
out,  the  only  son  of  his  mother  and  she  was  a  widow,  and  much 
people  of  the  city  was  with  her.  And  when  the  Lord  saw  her 
He  had  compassion  on  her  and  said  :  Weep  not.  And  He  came 
and  touched  the  bier  and  said  :  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee, 
arise !  And  he  that  was  dead  sat  up  and  began  to  speak,  and 
He  delivered  him  to  his  mother.  And  there  came  a  fear  on 
all  and  they  glorified  God,  saying  :  God  hath  visited  His  people.] 
— Luke,  vii.,  11-17;  John,  xi  ,  25-45. 

John's  wondrous  record,  "Jesus  wept," 

Is  unsurpassed  in  written  speech  ; 
The  Lord's  kind  act  of  love  there  kept 

Earth's  teuderest  fact  doth  tersest  teach 
In  Laconism  to  live  and  last 

As  long  as  letters  shall  be  read 
And  Christian  consolation  cast 

O'er  the  dark  days  around  the  dead. 

So  when  the  dead  man  carried  out  of  Nain 

Is  called"ttis  mother's  only  son,  and  she 

56 


38  HASKEIJVS    DOMESTIC    POEMS. 

A  widow? here  Saint  Luke  in  style  again 

Excelled  all  uninspired  speech,  and  he 
Portrays  a  picture,  perfect  and  ornate  : 

See  two  processions  meet  before  the  gate 
Of  the  walled  town  ;  hear  now  their  mingled  wail 

Of  grief!  Lo,  a  young  man's  borne  to  his  grave 
Before  his  prime  ;  and  by  his  bier  a  widow,  pale, 

Beloved   and  poor,  weeps   loud:    "Can  no   one 
save?" 

Just  then,  the  Lord  saw  her  ;  "Weep  not  !"he  said, 

And  touched  the  bier— the  bearers  all  attend — 
"Young  man,  arise  !"  He  said  unto  the  dead, 

And  he  sat  up  and  spake.    Their  sorrows  end: 
The  loving  Lord  delivered  him  alive 

Unto  his  mother  !    O,  all-sufficient  Friend, 
Whose  God-compassion  can  such  solace  give, 

'Tis  most  befitting  that  a  moral  fear 
In  the  whole  region  round  should  so  revive 

That  all  exclaim  :     "  The  Mighty  God  is  here !" 

It  were  a  sacrilege,  a  sin  profane, 

To  touch  such  pictures  with  pretentious  paint, 
And  to  their  stamped  perfections  add  a  stain 

Of  fiction's  pride.     'Twould  prostitute  a  saint 
By  act  tragedian,  or  trick  of  art 

T'  approach  this  passage  in  a  single  part. 
Let  kind  ambition,  in  a  case  like  this, 

Hold  up  the  picture  in  some  holy  place, 
And  bid  all  :    "See  its  beauty  as  it  is, 

The  special  gift  of  God's  inspiring  grace  !  " 
When  this  is  done,  and  ye  have  seen  the  dead 

Restored — and  joy  in  God,  enough  is  said. 


A  JUVENILE   IMPROMPTU.  39 

A  JUVENILE    IMPROMPTU    TO    A    PRECIOUS    BROTHER,    WHO  WAS 
DROWNED   IN    ENGLISH   RIVER,    IOWA,    MARCH    2,    1840. 

[His  father  died  in   Ohio  the  week  before.    They  desired 
intensely  to  see  each  other.] 

I. 
How  sadly,  how  hardly  he  left  those  who  love  him  ; 

How  slowly,  how  sadly  his  days  glided  on, 
By  the  murmuring  waters,  where  woods  wave  above 
him, 

And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  was  the  key  to  his  song  I 
How  sadly,  how  slowly  he  walks  by  that  river  ! 

How  powerless,  how  useless  he  pulls  at  the  oar  ! 
How  strangely,  how  sadly  he  sinks  there  forever — 

He  sinks  and  thrice  rises — then  rises  no  more. 
But  one  friend  was  there  to  sigh  o'er  his  lot 

As  his  frame  down  the  current  was  hurried  ; 
But  one  relative  near  to  hallow  the  spot, 

And  weep  where  my  brother  was  buried  ! 

n. 
Yet  sweetly  he  sleeps  'neath  the  wild  western  shade, 

In  the  grave  which  his  Maker  assigned  him  ; 
No  evils  of  Earth  can  his  spirit  upbraid, 

Nor  chill  of  the  surge  that  confined  him. 
And  could  I  inscribe  but  two  words  on  his  tomb, 

Or  carve  just  two  lines  in  his  favor, 
I'd  record  his  fond  love  for  his  country  and  home 

And  then  point  to  his  Home  with  the  Savior ! 
Where  his  parent  who  panted  in  last  hours  to  meet 
him 

Has  gone  in  good  time  to  engage  in  his  greeting, 
As  the  angels  and  saints  assemble  to  greet  him  ; 

How  both  are  surprised  at  thus  meeting  ! 


10  HASKKMVS  DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

A   MOURNING    SCENE    IN    ANDOVER   SEMINARY. 

The  funeral  obsequies  of  Professor  Stuart  Phelps,  Mr.  Green- 
ough  Thayer  and  Misses  Gould  and  Safford,  whose  sudden  death 
by  drowning  and  accident  seemed  a  Divine  mystery.  (Aug.  1883.) 

I. 
A  cloud  of  sorrow  hangs  o'er  Zion's  Hill  ! 

A  sable  cloud,  although  the  skies  are  clear  ; 

Each  face  is  sad — too  sad  to  shed  a  tear, 
And  wise  men  wonder  at  their  Maker's  will ! 
Up  Zion's  beaten  walks  are  reverent  borne 

The  learned  and  old,  with  loving,  weary  feet ; 

Holy  Divines  and  Israel's  Mothers  meet, 
In  sacred  sympathy  with  them  that  mourn  ! 
Young  men  and  maidens,  youth  and  children  fair, 

Come  pale  with  sorrow,  anguish  and  surprise, 

To  join  in  worship  with  the  just  and  wise, 
And  mingle  hearts  in  mournful  hymns  and  prayer. 

II. 
For  in  God's  temple,  near  his  altar,  rest 

Four  sleeping  beauties,  paragons  of  art 

Divine,  whose  symmetry  of  mind  and  heart 
Suggest  the  bloom  of  souls  among  the  blest : 
Two  manly  forms,  with  youth  and  thought  impressed, 

Once  children  at  that  sacred  altar  seen, 

Whose  loving  hearts  longed  on  their  Lord  to  lean, 
Whose  souls  are  now  borne  to  their  Savior's  breast ; 
Two  lovely  "daughters  of  the  Lord  of  Lights," 

The  polished  palace  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Whose  hallowed  beauties  won  the  Heavenly  host — 
These  four  !  receive  now  there  their  funeral  rites  ! 

in. 
The  choicest  harvest  from  that  chosen  hill, 

They're  gathered  thence  as  God's  first  fruits  and 
flowers, 

Borne  to  His  garner  and  to  grace  His  bowers, 
While  mourners  worship  their  wise  Master's  will ! 


SECOND    ANNIVERSARY   OF  SORROW.  41 

O  service  rare  !    O  sorrow  so  divine  ! 

O  mingled  tea:s  of  Earth  with  joys  of  Heaven  ! 

O  truest  wealth  of  God's  best  treasures  given, 
Borne  hence  in  beauty  in  God's  home  to  shine  ! 
Here  sore    and    bleeding   hearts     are    soothed    and 
healed, 

By  coronation  scenes  where  such  are  crowned, 

Where  bliss  and  peace  so  blend  and  so  abound 
That  God's  beneficence  is  all  revealed ! 


A   SECOND   ANNIVERSARY   OF   SORROW. 

On  a  Denver  tomb  is  inscribed  : 


"  FLORENCE  EDWARDS  ; 

Born  in  Boston,  March  27,  1859 ; 
Died  in  Denver,  October  5,  1873  " 


"  The  melancholy  days  have  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year." 
"  'Tis  infamy  to  die  and  not  be  missed." 

I. 
The  falling  days  have  come,  so  sadly  fair, 

When  plains  and  mountains   and  plume   waving 

trees 
Put  on  the  weird  light,  woven  like  the  hair 

Of  some  bright  damsel  drifting  in  the  breeze 

To  tease  a  lover,  ill  at  ease  to  seize 
Her  fairy  form  in  chaste  and  fond  embrace  ; 

And  now  my  fancy,  through  affection,  sees 
An  absent  fair  one  with  an  angel's  face. 

n. 
Two  years  I've  lingered  round  the  lonely  spot 

Where  Florence  fell  asleep,  no  more  to  wake 
To  share  the  shade  and  sunshine  of  our  lot ; 

Her  last  request  was  :  "  Papa,  sing-  "Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul  ! 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly." 


42 


H  ASKEW/ S    DOMESTIC   POEMS. 


And  deeper,  sorer  doth  my  sad  heart  ache, 
Arid  break — asleep — awake — whene'er  I  make 

One  mention  of  her  name  and  noble  deeds  ; 
And  I  could  even  die  for -her  dear  sake, 

While  lovely  Autumn  all  my  longing  leads. 


"DEAR  FLONIE." 

in. 
We  buried  her  two  years  ago  to-day  ! 

We  left  her  sleeping  on  the  lonely  hill  ; 
And  though  a  hundred  weeks  have  hied  away, 

I  see  her  stately  form  and  features  still, 

And  still  I  feel  the  chill  and  fearful  thrill 
Of  anguish,  as  her  cold,  dead  lips  I  press, 

And  pray  for  grace  to  suffer  all  God's  will  ; 
Nor  so  the  longer  time  leaves  sorrow  less  ! 


MRS.   EDWARD'S    DYING    WORDS.  43 

IV. 

'Twas  no  dull  deed  to  lay  our  daughter  down, 
Among  the  thickly  strewn  and  stranger  dead, 

When  garnering  Autumn  hung  her  golden  crown 
Upon  declining  day,  above  our  head, 
And  led  our  solemn  tread,  and  on  us  shed 

Her  soul  of  sympathy,  as  if  to  say 

The  kindest  words  that  ever  could  be  said 

In  this  sad  world,  where  all  will  pass  away  ! 
v. 

Yet  Hope  hears  often  in  the  holy  air 

Repeated,  as  by  saintly  souls,  "Rejoice  !" 

While  Autumn's  halo,  like  an  Angel's  hair, 

Hangs  round  the  vision  of  that  Heavenly  voice, 
And  joys,  unsullied  with  alloys  and  noise 

Of  Earth,  sit  waiting  from  their  happy  seats  above 
Till  a  deep  blessedness  no  blight  destroys 

Brings  to  our  embrace  our  Dear  Departed  Love 
DENVER,  October  6,  1875. 


MRS.    JUSTIN   EDWARD'S   DYING   WORDS. 

(February  4,  A.  D.  1868.) 
"  I  fear  nothing  in  life  or  death  so  much 
As  that  I  shall  not  love  my  Lord  enough." 

I. 
I  feel  a  great,  a  grievous  fear  ; 

Not  that  this  world's  bewitching  charm 
Can  do  my  spirit  further  harm  ; 
I've  given  to  Heaven  all  I  hold  dear  : 
I  fear  not  even  the  power  of  death  ; 
I  know  not  what  it  is  to  die  : 
But  Christ  has  died — then  so  can  I ; 
To  Him  I  freely  yield  my  breath  : 
But  still  fear  trembles  in  my  breast ; 
My  timid  heart  I  can  not  trust, 
Though  healed  of  every  conscious  lust, 


44  HASKEUv'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

And  of  its  loves  my  Lord  is  best — 

Still,  I  do  fear  I  love  Him  not 
According  to  His  loveliness, 
His  willing  power  my  soul  to  ble.-.s  ; 

I  do  not  love  Him  as  I  ought ! 

n. 

In  life  or  death  there's  naught  I  fear 
So  much  as  that  I  shall  not  love 
My  Savior  like  the  saints  above, 

Though  now  He  is  surpassing  dear. 

While  He  has  loved  and  called  me  His, 
Has  pardoned  me  in  words  of  peace, 
Has  made  all  other  fears  to  cease, 

And  sealed  my  soul  an  heir  of  bliss — 

Still,  still,  there  's  one — this  lingering  grief, 
That  here  I  can  not  love  Him  more  ! 
O,  when  I  reach  the  heavenly  shore, 

Will  sight  surpass  my  poor  belief? 

Death's  billows  seem  both  cold  and  rough  ; 
The  grave  is  dark  and  filled  with  gloom 
But  He  has  lighted  up  my  tomb — 

I  fear  I'll  love  Him  not  enough  ! 

HI. 

O  blessed  fear  !  where  love  hath  cast 

Out  other  fears  and  filled  their  place 
With  offspring  of  that  loving  grace 

Which  clings  to  Christ  so  close  and  fast, 

Pants  for  still  higher  love  of  Him, 

And  on  the  wings  of  peace  sublime 
Soars  out  beyond  the  scenes  of  Time 

To  vie  with  saints  and  seraphim  ! 

We  look,  through  tears  of  joy  and  grief, 
And  long,  dear  one,  like  thee  to  love  ; 
We  mark  thy  welcome  from  above  ; 

Thy  glory  gives  us  sweet  relief. 


DEATH   OF  A   BENEFACTRESS.  45 

DEATH   OF   A    BENEFACTRESS. 

An  impromptu  on  hearing  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Judge  Farwell 
Hitchccck,  who  aided  students  at  Andover  and  elsewhere. 
(September  15,  1883.) 

Thou  benefactress  of  our  youth, 

Most  kind  and  wise  to  me  ; 
Whose  every  look  was  love  and  truth, 

Whose  choice  was  charity  ; 
Thou  cherished  friend  ;  thou  child  of  God, 

In  good  old  age  hast  gone  ; 
And  this  the  word  now  sent  abroad 

By  thy  last  heir  and  lone  : 
' '  We  laid  her  body  down  to  rest — 

Down  in  its  bed  of  dust — 
While  she  was  borne  among  the  blest, 

Triumphing  in  her  trust ! 
'  Bye  hath  not  seen,  nor  hath  ear  heard, 

Nor  heart  of  man  conceived 
Her  gladness  with  her  glorious  Lord, 

In  whom  she  hath  believed  ! '  " 
I  see  Him  on  His  great  white  throne  ; 

I  see  the  sainted  dead  ; 
I  hear  thy  heavenly  accents  own 

Our  Lord,  thy  living  head  ; 
I  listen  to  thy  words  of  love, 

With  those  who  went  before  ; 
This  bears  my  heart  of  hearts  above, 

To  Him  whom  I  adore. 
Our  Savior's  cross  insures  thy  crown, 

And  dries  the  mourner's  tear  ; 
We  would  not  dare  to  bring  thee  down  ; 

We  would  not  wish  thee  here  ; 
But  rather  beg  redeemed  to  be 

With  thee  thus  highly  blessed  ; 
Thy  saintly  life  in  Heaven  to  see, 

And  with  thee  be  at  rest ! 

57 


46  HASKEUVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

RIZPAH,  THE  CONCUBINE   OF  SAUL  ;    A   MOTHER'S,  SISTER'S  LOVE. 

The  Gibeonites  said  to  King  David  :  We  will  have  no  gold 
nor  silver  from  the  house  of  Saul,  neither  shalt  thou  kill  for  us 
any  man  in  Israel.  But  the  man  that  consumed  us  and  devised 
that  we  should  be  destroyed,  let  seven  of  his  sons  be  given  us. 
So  the  King  took  two  sons  of  Rizpah,  whom  she  bore  to  Saul, 
and  five  sons  of  Merab,  Saul's  daughter,  and  gave  them  to  the 
Gibeonites,  and  they  hanged  them  on  a  hill  before  the  I^ord  ;  and 
Rizpah  took  sackcloth  and  spread  it  for  her  on 'a  rock,  from  the 
beginning  of  harvest  till  water  dropped  upon  them  out  of  Heaven, 
and  suffered  neither  the  birds  of  the  air  to  rest  on  them  by  day 
nor  the  beasts  of  the  field  by  night. — II  Sam.,  xxi :  4-14. 

The  silent  concubine  of  Saul 

Sat  desolate  beside  her  dead, 
From  rising  Spring  till  the  rain-fall 

Had  Autumn  o'er  the  hill-tops  spread  ; 
Nor  birds  nor  beast  could  bear  away 

Or  tear  the  flesh  of  corses  there  ; 
For  weeks,  for  months,  by  night,  by  day, 

She  kept  them  with  her  constant  care  ! 

Such  patient  sorrow  never  was  surpassed  ; 

It  fixed  forever  on  the  scroll  of  fame 
The  legend  of  her  love  that  e'er  shall  last, 

In  noblest  rainbows  around  Rizpah's  name  ! 
Still  her  example  impels  highest  arts 

And  lives  immortal  in  maternal  love, 
For  to  Centennials  that  scene  imparts  * 

Paintings  so  matchless  they  all  pity  move  ! 


*  "  There  is  no  picture  in  all  the  art  exhibits  that  creates  as 
much  wonder  and  occasions  so  many  curious  speculations  as  the 
colossal  painting  in  the  French  department  representing  Rizpah 
defending  her  sons.  The  story  of  the  famine  for  which  they 
were  immolated  as  an  atonement,  is  found  in  II.  Samuel,  chap- 
ter xxi.  The  artist,  George  Becker  of  Paris,  shocked  the  critical 
world  of  Europe  by  the  production  of  this  ghastly  picture,  and 
even  Gustave  Dore,  whose  imagination  has  conceived  some  of 
the  most  horrible  of  subjects,  acknowledged  that  he  had  been 
surpassed  in  intensity  when  Rizpah  was  first  shown  to  the  pub- 
lic. All  have  acknowledged  the  extraordinary  power  of  this 
work.  The  painting  is  a  little  larger  than  life  size,  and  looms  up 
fir  above  any  of  its  surroundings,  and  a  single  view  creates  an 
impression  that  can  never  be  forgotten." — Exchange.,  /  %  f  (,. 


RIZPAH   AND   OTHERS'    HEROIC  LOVE.  47 

Even   when    'twas   brought  the   King,    her  patience 
brave, 

He  took  her  crucified  f  with  tender  care, 
Garnered  them  up  in  Saul's  ancestral  grave, 

And  their  fond  ashes  housed  forever  there. 
The  love  of  woman  as  aunt,  sister,  true, 

Hath  also  outdone  all  the  hates  of  men, 
For  Rizpah  watched  o'er  Merab's  offspring,  too, 

And  Madam  Scovilles  wield  a  mournful  pen. 

Love  brought  a  sister  J  o'er  the  briny  sea, 

Who  did  such  bravery  for  her  brother  show 
As  set  him  from  the  hempen  halter  free, 

And  judge  and  jury  joined  to  let  him  go — 
The  admiration,  she,  of  many  a  moistened  eye 
That  chanced  her  love  to  see  of  cheering  ministry  ; 
And  hence  proceeds  we  kuow-*-for  it  hath  proven  so — 
That  Woman's  Love  below  's  the  bravest  thing  the 
heavens  bestow  ! 


HAGAR,  THE  EGYPTIAN   MAID. 

[Now  Sarai,  Abraham's  wife,  before  she  had  received  the 
promise  concerning  Isaac,  had  a  hand  maid,  an  Egyptain,  and 
Sarai  said  to  Abraham  :  "It  may  be  that  I  shall  obtain  children 
by  Hagar."  But  when  she  conceived  Sarai  dealt  harshly  with 
her  and  she  fled.  And  the  angel  of  the  Lord  found  her  by  a 
fountain  in  the  wilderness,  and  said:  Return  to  thy  mistress. 
Thou  shalt  bear  a  son,  and  call  his  name  Ishmael,*  because  the 
Lord  hath  heard  thy  affliction.  And  she  called  the  name  oFthe 
Lord  that  spoke  unto  her:  Thou  God— seest  me!] — Gen.  xvi., 
1-14,  xxv.,  ii. 

When  Hagar  heard  the  heavenly  voice 
It  all  her  wayward  steps  reclaimed, 

And  bade  her  bleeding  heart  rejoice  ; 
Beer-La-Hai-Roi  the  fount  she  named, 


f  Douay  version  says  "crucified." 

J  Mrs.  Scoville's  letter,  in  behalf  of  the  brother  who  assass- 
inated Garfield,  is  only  surpassed  by  the  conduct  of  Mrs  Powers, 
who  came  from  London  to  save  the  life  of  her  brother,  on  trial 
for  killing  his  wife's  seducer,  in  Denver,  Colorado,  1881-82. 


48  HASKEEJ/S  DOMESTIC   POEMS 

The  well  of  Him  that  seeth  me, 

Who  liveth  as  my  Lord  and  guide  ; 

This  is  the  fount  that  freeth  me 

From  guilt,  oppression,  grief  and  pride ! 

Since  her  harsh  mistress  deemed  her  maiden  vile, 

The  enceinte  Hagar  hastened  from  her  ire, 
And  resting  weary  by  this  well  awhile, 

She  hears  a  human  voice  from  Heaven  inquire  : 
"Whence  comest  thou,  and  whither  wouldst  thou  go?" 

The  knowing  tongue  pronounces,  too,  her  name, 
And  shares  her  sorrows,  so  as  well  to  show 

He  knows  her  character  and  whence  she  came. 

She  calls  Him  Lord,  indeed,  who  thus  addressed  her  ; 

"Thou  art  the  God  that  seest  me,"  she  said  ; 
For  she  had  sought  Him,  and  He  forthwith  blessed 

her, 

And  the  dear  life  by  one  as  good  as  dead. 
No  maxim  could  have  so  much  truth  embalmed, 

No  precept  prompted  such  parental  prayer, 
No  written  counsel  the  riled  spirit  calmed 
Like  this  Theophany,f  so  timely  there  ! 

Still,  household  piety  reveals  its  powers 

To  pass  from  heart  to  heart  and  place  to  place, 
Till  alien  members  in  their  anxious  hours 

Are  sealed  as  kindred  heirs  of  covenant  grace. 
God  ne'er  as  an  unwelcome  guest  intrudes, 

But  comes  to  all  those  craving  to  be  blessed ; 
No  age,  nor  sex,  nor  circumstance  excludes 

Him  from  the  hearts  that  want  the  heavenly  guest ; 
Nor  are  His  searching  sight  and  hearing  ear 
Afar  from  those  who  wish  Him  near  to  hear  ! 


*  Ishmael  means,  God  shall  hear,    f  Theophany,  an  appear- 
ance of  God. 


HAGAR'S  SORROW.  49 

HAGAR'S  SECOND  SCENE  OF  SORROW. 

[And  it  came  to  pass,  after  some  fifteen  years,  that  Sarah  saw 
Ishmael  mocking  her  son  Isaac,  and  she  said  :  Cast  out  Hagar, 
the  bondwoman,  and  her  son,  for  he  shall  not  be  heir  with  niy 
son  Isaac.  And  Abraham  took  bread  and  a  bottle  of  water  and 
gave  to  Hagar,  and  sent  her  away.  And  she  wandered  in  the 
wilderness  of  Beer-Sheba,  and  when  their  water  was  spent  she 
laid  her  child  under  a  shrub  and  went  over  against  him  and 
wept.  And  God  heard  the  voice  of  the  lad  also,  and  called  out 
of  Heaven  :  What  aileth  thee,  Hagar?  Fear  not,  lift  up  the  lad, 
for  I  will  make  him  a  great  nation.] — Gen.  xx.,  1-21. 

When  following  in  his  weary  way 

Man's  sorrows  seem  the  more  severe 
If  duplicated  day  by  day, 

Or  even  repeated  year  by  year  ; 
But  that  weak  woman,  once  alone, 

With  none  but  heaven  to  see  or  hear, 
Hath  now  in  solitude  the  moan 

Of  her  starved  child  upon  her  ear  ! 

Two  lives  are  clinging  to  the  desert's  breast  ; 

Two  weary  outcasts  wilt  beneath  the  sun  ; 
Their  burning  thirst  forbids  them  both  to  rest ; 

Of  either  strength  or  water  they  have  none ! 
So  Hagar  lays  her  darling  down  to  die, 

Beneath  a  withered  shrub,  and  steals  away  ; 
She  can  not  look  upon  his  languid  eye, 

And  seeks  in  perfect  solitude  to  pray. 

When  two  wrecked  sailors  on  an  untried  sea 

Are  drifting  deathward  on  a  shifting  spar, 
And  one  is  entering  eternity 

From  the  wide  waste  of  waters,  off  so  far, 
O  hear  the  cry  of  help  that  rends  the  sky  ! 

So  Hagar  we*pt  a  heart-rent  mother's  wail 
Of  utter  woe  !  Her  anguished,  bleating  cry, 

With  Ishmael's  blending,  doth  with  God  prevail. 


50  HASKELL'S  DOMESTIC  POEMS. 

^He  hears  the  voice  of  the  half-dying  lad  ; 

His  angel  calls  to  Hagar,  out  of  Heaven  : 
"  What  aileth  thee,  thou  woman,  wan  and  sad  ? 

A  hardy  nation  as  thine  heir  is  given 
Through  this  thy  son  :     Go  take  him  by  the  hand , 

For  now  a  fountain's  flowing  near  and  clear, 
Another  Iva-Hai-Rai,  and  I  wilf  stand 

To  guard  thy  child  ;  therefore,  be  of  good  cheer  ; 
Thy  seed  shall  live  sovereign  of  many  a  land !" — 
Hence  as  years  onward  run,  Mohammed  is  her  son. 


PARENTAL   CONSECRATION   OF   OUR   POSTERITY  TO   CHRIST. 

"By  faith  Abraham,  being  tried,  hath  offered  up  Isaac,  of 
whom  it  was  said  :  In  Isaac  shall  thy  seed  be  called.  And  the 
Lord  called  unto  him  out  of  heaven  and  said  :  Because  thou  hast 
not  withheld  thine  only  son  from  me,  I  will  multiply  thy  seed  as 
the  stars  of  Heaven,  and  in  thy  seed  shall  all  the  nations,  of  the 
earth  be  blessed.— And  Jesus  said  unto  the  Jews  :  Your  father 
Abraham  desired  to  see  my  day,  and  he  saw  it  and  was  glad. — For 
God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that 
whosoever  belie veth  in  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have  ever- 
lasting life." 

Sometimes  at  night,  when  all  still, 

The  words  of  God  upon  us  fall, 
And  melt  in  His  our  human  will, 

And  make  us  give  to  Him  our  all. 
The  dearest  idol  we  have  known, 

Be  it  a  son,  or  sin,  or  treasure, 
He  bids  us  take  it  from  its  throne 

And  place  it  wholly  at  his  pleasure. 

Such  was  the  scene  that  night  of  wondrous  sorrow 
In  Abra'am's  tent,  when  God  appeared  and  said  : 

"Take  now  thine  only  son,  and  on  the  morrow, 
Lead  him  in  sacrifice  among  the  dead." 


PARENTAL  CONSECRATION.  51 

And  Abraham  rose  early  the  next  morn, 

And  took  the  wood,  an  ass,  and  two  young  men, 

And  Isaac,  Sarah's  first  and  only  born, 

And  wandered,  following  God,  o'er  hill  and  glen. 

On  the  third  day,  he  saw  the  Mount  Moriah, 

Of  which  God  told  him  in  the  midnight  voices, 
The  Calvary  scene  of  the  foreshown  Messiah, 

In  which  all  nations'  hope  ere  now  rejoices  ; 
He  then,  in  words  of  tender,  solemn  meaning, 

Said  :  ' '  Wait  ye  here,  while  we  go  worship  yon- 
der ;" 
And,  on  his  son  the  cross-like  timbers  leaning, 

They  onward  press,  while  Angels  look  and  wonder. 

When  to  the  place  of  sacrifice  they  've  come, 

And  Isaac  's  on  his  burden  bound,  in  grief 
He  asks  :  "  Is  there  no  lamb  ?"  and  then  is  dumb  ; 

So  Abra'am's  offering  Isaac,  through  belief, 
Was  finished — in  obedience  all  was  done. 

But  Heaven's  Redeemer  flew  to  his  relief ; 
God  gave  Himself,  the  Lamb — His  only  Son  ! 

Jehovah  Jireh  of  our  hopes  is  chief ! 

All  nations  thus  before  us  now  arise, 

And  ask  the  offering  of  our  only  sons — 
To  pioneer  some  saving  enterprise, 

To  fight,  to  win,  among  faith's  martyred  ones ; 
And  when  the  God  of  Abraham  thus  sees 

Our  love  will  not  withhold  from  Him  our  lives, 
But  gives  up  all,  the  God  of  Heaven  to  please, 

All  nations'  good  in  our  own  gift  revives. 

When  Canaan's  sires  their  sons  to  Moloch  threw, 
'Twas  murder  in  the  first  degree,  in  fact ; 

When  Agamemnon  Iphigenia  slew, 

'Twas  imitation  of  their  muclerous  act ; 


52  HASKELI/S    DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

But  when  God  gave  His  only  Son  to  die — 
When  Jesus  in  His  love  lays  down  His  life, 

There  is  so  grand  a  moral  reason  why, 

It  straightway  helps  to  heal  all  human  strife, 

And  leads  whole  martyr  bands  to  homes  on  high. 


SARAH'S  DEATH  SCENE  ;  OR  ABRAHAM,  A  WIDOWER. 
To  give  to  God  an  only  Son, 

And  then  receive  him  back  again, 
As  Abraham  had  lately  done, 

Unfolds  the  hopeful  faith  of  men 
To  meet,  indeed,  their  dead  once  more, 

•  Beyond  this  narrow  bound  of  time, 
Upon  some  bright  and  blissful  shore, 
To  share  in  life's  eternal  prime. 

Soon  after  faith  had  gained  that  great  achievement, 

Did  Abraham  drink  deep  of  the  well  — —Marah, 
The  bitter  waters  of  this  sore  bereavement ; 

An  aged  widower,  he  weeps  for  Sarah, 
The  bosom  friend  of  life's  long  burdened  journey  ; 

For  she  has  gone  where  Saints  of  God  now  tread 
The  plains  of  Heaven  ;  no  pastor  nor  attorney 

Assists  him  bury  from  his  sight  his  dead. 

He  sees  her  dying  form  sink  down  in  death  ; 

He  shrouds  her  precious  corpse  for  the  cold  grave  ; 
He  buys  of  Ephron  ,  wily  son  of  Heth, 

The  grove  Machpela,  and  within  its  cave 
He  lays  her  down  for  her  long  silent  slumbers, 

Till  He,  whom  Isaac's  life  from  death  proclaims, 
Shall  raise  the  righteous  dead  in  countless  numbers, 

And  call  them  each  by  their  endearing  names. 

I  see  the  lone  old  man,  as  on  the  morrow 

He  sits  down  in  the  door  of  his  deserted  tent ; 

His  saddened  voice,  his  dim  eyes  swollen  with  sorrow, 
Seem  following  where  her  faithful  spirit  went, 


EUEZER  AND   REBEKAH.  53 

The  only  object  of  his  early  troth  ; 

And  so  he  mourns  and  weeps,  and  then  doth  make 
His  trusted  servant  of  long  life  give  oath 

To  get  Rebekah,  for  his  son  to  take, 
And   keep   their   chastened   home    and   cheer   them 
both— 

So  death  and  marriage  soon  near  neighbors  are  ; 
That  servant's  care  and  prayer  are  also  rich  and  rare ! 


ELIEZER    AND   REBEKAH. 

[Read  Genesis  xxiv. — So  Sincere  and  Simple.] 
See  that  old  servant's  sacred  care 

In  every  feature  of  his  face, 
As  he  lifts  up  his  voice  in  prayer 
In  that  peculiar,  public  place. 
'Tis  near  an  ancient  city's  gate, 

Where  damsels  turn  at  eventide, 
And  by  the  well  in  beauty  wait, 
Each  for  her  turn  to  be  supplied. 

Ten  camels,  resting  from  their  weary  way, 

Are  kneeling  closely  round  him  side  by  side  ; 
There  by  that  well,  he  also  bows — to  pray 

The  Lord  to  help  him  find  the  looked-for  bride. 
And  his  petitions  and  his  pious  care, 

And  his  appeals  to  maiden  and  to  men, 
Are  all  so  delicate,  delightful,  fair, 

They  point  with  beauty  the  inspired  pen. 
This  marks  a  social  scene  most  sacred  yet 

In  all  the  pious  patriarchial  years  ; 
And  how  God  helped  the  good  old  man  to  get 

The  beautiful  Rebekah,  still  appears 
As  chaste  and  charming  as  an  Angel  child, 

As  pure  and  providential  as  a  potent  prayer, 
While  her  chaste  beauty  every  charm  beguiled, 

Till  she  is  given  all  Abram's  goods  to  share 

And  have  proud  Israel,  too,  her  princelv  heir. 

58 


54  HASKEU/S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

So  Eliezer  of  Damascus  sought 

This  loveliest  damsel  of  the  distant  land  ; 

And,  by  God's  guidance,  he  both  gained  and  brought 
Her,  as  all  hearts  confessed,  at  Heaven's  command. 


Lo  now  the  heirs  of  Isaac's  lovely  bride 
Bring  water  from  the  well  at  Nazareth  ; 

Still,  damsels  there,  with  most  delicious  pride, 
Fill  water-pots  from  famous  wells  beneath  ; 

They  "virgins  are,  and  beautiful  "  beside  ! 

Once  in  the  Orient  at  eventide, 

I  went  without  a  town  to  watch  and  wait, 
As  a  dear,  gray  old  Damascene  did  guide 

His  camel  train  to  camp  beside  the  gate  ; 
The  high-toned  merchant's  man  turned  on  his  heel 

And  called  his  noble  camels,  each  by  name, 
To  come  and  near  him  in  close  contact  kneel  ; 

And  with  complete  alacrity  they  came, 
And  bent  around  him  as  a  barricade, 

In  kind  obedience  as  could  ever  be, 
And  in  a  circle  most  securely  made. 

His  brow  he  next  did  bare,  and  bent  the  knee  ; 
With  head  unturbaned  and  with  brow  serene. 

He  seemed  so  solemn  when  the  sun  was  set, 
I  never  can  forget  that  far  off  scene  ; 

'Tis  "Eliezer  of  Damascus  "  yet — 
Though  miles  and  years  by  thousands  intervene  ; 

Still  Orient  manners  show  what    ancient   annals 
mean. 


ELI   SMITH  AND   BETSEY  JONES.  oo 

ELI   AND   BETSEY. 

"Be  not  unequally  yoked  together  with  unbelievers." — St. 
Paul. 

When  Horace  Greeley  bade  all  the  young  men,  "Go 

West!" 

One  EH  Smith  obeyed.     The  maid  he  there  liked  best 
Was  Betsey  Jones,  a  lovely  and  a  beauteous  lass, 
Whose  mind  was  clear  and  kind,  and  always  led  her 

class  ; 

And  now  a  teacher  rare,  and  of  the  noblest  rank, 
She  had  money  to  spare,  held  in  a  "maiden's  bank." 

Though  conscientiously  a  connoisseur  of  art, 
She  knew  our  history,  till  now,  almost  by  heart ; 
Had  studied  so  well,   too,  the  weal  of  Church  and 

State, 

That  she  would  make,  indeed,  a  worthy  magistrate. 
But  she's  a  widow's  daughter  ;  was  bred  in  sorrows 

deep  ! 

Her  mother  used  to  work  and  weep  while  others  sleep, 
So  girded  self  and  daughter  with  such  faith  in  God 
That,  as  His  children,  both  were  chastened  by  His 

rod. 

Hence  Betsey  was  held  fair  and  brave  and  beautiful, 
And  to  her  mother,  dear,  most  fond  arid  dutiful ; 
A  model  woman — made,  indeed,  in  finest  mold — 
In  every  sense  was  good,  and  worth  her  weight  in 

gold. 

"But  mother  had  a  longing  for  a  model  home, 
Whither  she  and  Betsey  might  together  come  ; 
There  shed  their  blended  love,  and  bless  with  shining 

light 
All  those  within,  around,  from  morning  until  night. 

Now  EH  Smith  's  a  clown  ;  a  smart  but  low-lived  clod  ! 
WTho  knows  so  little  good  he  greatly  dislikes  God. 
He  simply  knows  he  wants  a  good  sort  of  a  wife, 
To  give  himself  a  lift,  in  his  low,  sordid  life. 


56  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS 

He   loved  praise,  also,  much  ;    and  Betsey   was   ad- 
mired ; 

So,  to  feel  proud  of  such,  his  passion  was  inspired, 
Until  he  bravely  asked  that  she  become  his  bride, 
When  her  acceptance  proved  an  increase  of  his  pride. 

For  when  he  took  her  off  from  usefulness  in  school, 
He  also  showed  her  off  with  actions  of  a  fool  ! 
Their  contrast  was  so  sad,  that  callers  often  sighed  ; 
More — it  became  so  bad,  that  Betsey's  mother  died, 
When  with  them  over-worked  two  ever  weary  years — 
So  worn  out  all  the  time  she  had  no  time  for  tears  ! 

Then  Betsey's  double  task,  beneath  his  dire  appeals, 
To  get  for  hired  men  eleven  hundred  meals — 
Three  each  for  every  day,  her  duties  never  done, 
And  thoroughly,  unseen  by  any  thankful  one  — 
Such  ceaseless  cares  as  these  for  such  a  soulless  clown, 
Without   a  breath  of  ease,  soon  broke  poor   Betsey 
down  ! 

But,  when  she  went  to  rest,  in   Heaven,  among  the 

blest, 
Did  Eli  win  another  damsel  in  the  West  ? 


This  question  would  be  answered,  were  it  really  best. 


MARRIAGE   AND   THE    FAMILY. 

[I  will  that  the  younger  women  marry,  bear  children,  be  mis- 
tresses of  families  and  give  no  occasion  to  the  adversary  to 
speak  evil.]— St.  Paul  in  Douay  Bible,  I.  Timothy,  v.  14. 

'Mong  all  the  modes  of  mortal  men, 

Than  marriage  none's  more  beautiful ; 
From  ancient  times  this  rite  hath  been 

To  human  fate  most  merciful. 
The  Master's  first  great  miracle, 

Of  heavenly  art  in  human  aid, 
Marked  specially  this  spectacle 

Of  marriage  vows  by  man  and  maid. 


MARRIAGE   AND   THE   FAMILY.  57 

And  this  involves  freedom  from  vice, 

A  chastity  therewith,  to  cherish 
More  beauty  than  a  Beatrice 

In  sharing  peace  that  ne'er  shall  perish, 
Creating  Home  akin  to  Heaven, 

While  bride  and  groom  breathe  loving  grace, 
And  children  good  and  choice  are  given, 

That  fill  with  pleasure  all  the  place. 

These  rise  up  full  of  filial  feeling, 

And  bless  their  parents  as  predicted  ; 
While  Heaven  bends  down  to  bless  with  healing, 

If  home  be  affluent  or  afflicted. 
So  fatherhood  and  motherhood 

Are  God's  most  glorious  gifts  to  mortals  ; 
And  it's  distinctly  understood, 

Here  parents  tread  the  heavenly  portals. 

So  to  be  head  of  such  a  home, 

And  mistress  of  its  family, 
Here  counts  our  heirs  in  time  to  come  ; 

Aye,  here  and  in  eternity. 
No  language  doth  her  life  display, 

Advancing  ever  down  the  ages  ; 
And  hence  Saint  Paul  did  here  portray 

The  picture  so  oft  put  by  sages  : 
I  would  that  maids  be  wives  and  mothers ! 

And  have  their  homes  pure-hearted  ; 
Where  fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers, 

Have  each  their  part  imparted  ! 


58  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC    POEMS. 

AN  IDEAL  FAMILY  ON  THE  FRONTIER. 
As  an  illustration  of  the  Socratic  and  Pauline 
ideals  of  family  life,  even  along  the  frontier,  let  the 
following  sketch  of  my  oldest  brother  be  read.  He 
was  at  the  same  time  both  my  foster  father  and 
spiritual  child,  a  fraternal  trinity,  three  in  one — father, 
brother  and  son — and  was  very  dear  to  me.  The 
article  was  published  soon  after  his  death,  in  1887,  by 
the  Western  Reserve  Chronicle,  the  oldest  paper  in 
Northern  Ohio,  and  will  be  seen  to  be  appropriate  for 
this  place,  as  an  encouragement  for  other  young  men 
and  women  to  go  and  do  likewise.  The  Chronicle  says : 

'It  is  not  often  the  death  of  a  private  citizen  by 
natural  disease  at  his  own  home  demands  extensive 
public  notice,  but  in  the  case  of  the  late  George  H. 
Haskell,  of  Bloomfield,  the  people  of  the  northern 
part  of  the  State  have  evinced  so  much  interest  that 
we  devote  space  in  this  issue  to  his  example  as  worthy 
to  inspire  all  in  private  life  to  be  both  loving  and 
useful.  "  Henry  Haskell"  was  extensively  known  as 
a  good  and  patriotic  citizen,  an  earnest  Christian  and 
a  very  faithful  and  affectionate  husband,  father, 
brother  and  friend.  In  his  last  sickness  his  house 
was  visited  by  anxious  inquirers  from  near  and  far. 
His  death  was  a  surprise  to  multitudes  of  warm 
friends  who  had  known  him  only  to  honor  and  love 
him,  and  his  funeral  was  attended  by  the  populace 
generally,  and  by  many  from  the  neighboring  towns. 
The  services  in  the  Union  Church  were  conducted  by 
Rev.  Dr.  Hickok,  and,  based  upon  "the  new  song" 
of  the  Redeemed  in  Heaven  (Rev.  v.,  9-12),  were 
peculiarly  appropriate  and  impressive.  Multitudes 
came  who  could  not  gain  admittance,  but  all  seemed 
assured  that  a  good  man  had  gone  to  glory  and  to 
God. 


AN   IDEAL   FAMILY.  59 

"George  Henry  Haskell — the  son  of  Captain  George 
Haskell,  who  was  in  his  day  as  extensively  and  favor- 
ably known — was  born  in  Middlebury,  Vt.,  October 

4,  1814.     He   spent  his   early   years   in    Chautauqua 
couuty,  N.  Y.,  whence  he  came  to  Bloomfield  in  his 
fifteenth  year,  and,  as  the  oldest  son,  helped  pay  for 
the 'farm  and  support  the  family.    Also,  at  his  father's 
death,  in  1840,  he  became  the  foster  brother  of  the 
three   youngest  children — Pliny  Fisk,  now  a  promi- 
nent citizen  of  Geneva;   Thomas  Nelson,  for  many 
years  a  settled  pastor  in  Washington  and  Boston,  and 
now  in  Denver,  and  L/ucy  Proctor,  the  wife  of  Judge 
Chapman,  of  Hutchinson,  Kansas.    These  all  testify  to 
the  remarkable  kindness  and  good  graces  of  Henry's 
native  and  Christian  character. 

"He  married  on  his  birthday,  forty-nine  years  ago, 
Miss  Abby  Foster  of  Youngstown,  with  whom,  for 
near  half  a  century,  he  set  an  admired  example  of 
connubial  felicity,  and  by  whom  he  reared  and  edu- 
cated a  delightful  and  model  family.  His  oldest  son, 
Pliny  Nelson,  was  a  graduate  of  Amherst,  superin- 
tendent of  schools  in  Hyde  Park,  and  died  two  years 
ago,  the  brilliant  and  much  lamented  partner  of 
L/eonard  Sweet  (Lincoln's  law  partner),  in  Chicago. 
The  second  son — Henry,  Jr. — is  an  esteemed  citizen 
of  Youngstown,  and  the  third — Sidney  M. — is  at  the 
head  of  Public  Instruction  in  the  city  of  Aurora,  111. 
His  eldest  daughter  is  the  widow  of  the  late  President 

5.  H.  Marsh,  D.   D.,  of  Pacific  University,   Oregon — 
son  of  a  former  President  of  Vermont  University,  and 
cousin  of  United  States   Minister  George  P.  Marsh, 
the    renowned    scholar    and    diplomatist.      Another 
daughter  is  wife  of  a  college  professor,  and  one  re- 
mains at  home  to  comfort  the  afflicted  mother  and 
youngest  brother,  yet  in  his  teens. 


60  HASKElvUS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

ffWe  give  this  sketch  of  Mr.  Haskell  and  his  family 
because  we  believe  it  will  be  interesting  and  useful. 
It  is  good  to  see  how  God  has  rewarded  the  good 
man's  fidelity  from  his  laborious  youth  up.  His  early 
exposures  and  hardships  can  hardly  be  appreciated 
by  the  present  and  uprising  generations.  Henry 
Haskell  had  scanty  educational  advantages,  yet  he 
encouraged  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  all  his  chil- 
dren, to  become  learned  and  useful.  When  helping 
to  clear  away  the  forest,  he  was  attacked  by  an  enor- 
mous wolf,  and  killed  him  single  handed  with  an 
axe  ;  and  up  to  the  month  of  his  death,  at  the  fipe  age 
of  seventy-three  years,  he  was  distinguished  for  his 
industry,  his  daring  and  devotion  to  duty,  and  for 
many  years  the  example  of  himself  and  family  will 
serve  as  an  inspiration  to  all  who  ever  saw  him,  and 
remember  his  humble,  faithful  and  laborious  life,  and 
hear  of  his  last  resultant  words —  '  I  am  happy  !  Oh, 
so  happy  !"" 


A   VIRTUOUS   MOTHER   TO   HER   SON   OF   MANY  VOWS. 

"O  Lemuel,  my  son,  the  son  of  my  vows,  it  is  not  for  kings 
to  drink  wine,  nor  give  their  strength  unto  women,  but  to  open 
thy  mouth  for  the  dumb,  and  plead  the  cause  of  the  poor." 

If  we  accept  the  Rabbi's  word, 

That  Lemuel  was  Solomon, 
The  wisest  mother  ever  heard 

Addressed  both  names,  as  if  but  one, 
Such  words  of  wisdom  as  will  live 

Like  loving  angels  in  all  lands 
Declaring — Though  God  doth  forgive, 

Still  Virtue  as  the  victor  stands ! 

This  chastened  mother,  of  King  David's  choice, 
Who  sang  with  him  his  '  'penitential  psalm,"  (51) 

Speaks  thus  with  special  and  inspired  voice, 
That  breathes  on  all  the  earth  a  healthy  balm. 


A   VIRTUOUS   MOTHER.  61 

Of  Christ  a  mother,  through  King  Solomon, 

Whom  she  declares  her  son  of  solemn  vow, 
She  sends  her  message  to  each  mother's  son, 

To  aid  his  nobler  nature  even  now. 
Her  thoughts  that  thrill  and  yearn,  thro'  words  that 
burn, 

And  warn  each  son  against  all  ways  of  sin,(Prov  7) 
Are  laws  of  life  which  none  too  early  learn, 

Or  their  obedience  too  soon  begin. 
Her  perfect  picture  of  the  perfect  wife  (Prov.  31) 

The  wisest  earth  hath  seen  or  e'er  will  see — 
She  sends  each  Lemuel  *  to  cheer  his  life 

And  teach  the  world  what  a  true  wife  should  be. 
It's  not  yet  in  the  power  of  human  speech 

Pictures  more  chaste  and  charming  e'er  to  paint, 
Than  those  her  words  of  tender  warning  teach, 

To  shun  lewd  sinners  and  to  live  a  saint.  (Prov.  5) 
Such  hath  Bath  Sheba  in  earth's  history  been  ; 

Her  pious  penitence  seems  unsurpassed  ; 
Her  power  to  influence,  even  public  men, 

Did  not  the  least  desert  her  to  the  last ; 
But  in  experience  bold,  pungent  and  deep, 
She  would  the  wise  from  shame  and  folly  keep  ; 
Or  in  their  fall  "would  fain  like  Peter  weep  !  " 


ABIGAIL,   THE  WISE  AND  BEAUTIFUL  WIFE  AND   WIDOW. 

And  David  sent  ten  young  men  to  say  to  the  servants  of 
Nabal :  Peace  be  to  thy  master  and  to  all  that  is  his  !  And  Nabal 
answered:  Who  is  David?  Then  Abigail,  his  wife,  a  woman 
wise  and  beautiful,  made  haste  and  came  down  and  said  :  Upon 
me  let  Nabal's  iniquity  be,  but  when  the  Lord  hath  dealt  well 
with  thee,  then  remember  thine  handmaid. — I.  Samuelxxv  :  2-24. 

Behold  that  armed  and  incensed  host 

Of  God's  annointed  fugitive, 
When  hastening  to  rebuke  the  boast 

Of  one  "  too  brutish  even  to  live  ;" 


*  L,emuel^-God  with  him— applies  to  any  pious  person. 
59 


62  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

And  the  pause  of  the  procession 

Before  a  woman  wise  and  fair, 
Who,  through  her  eloquent  confession, 

Saved  property  and  life  by  prayer. 

When  Abigail  alights  at  David's  feet, 

His  legion  halts  ;  "  their  arms  to  earth  are  bent," 
And  eyes  to  eyes  in  admiration  meet, 

As  she  propitiates  his  stern  intent, 
And  with  prophetic,  patriotic  speech, 

Reveals  the  one  divinely  sanctioned  path 
By  which  he  may  true  regal  greatness  reach, 

Avoiding  rashness  and  Jehovah's  wrath. 

When  cultured  woman  comes  thus  with  her  charms 

And  stands,  with  balm  for  wounds  and  prayers  for 

peace, 
Before  the  march  of  angry  men  in  arms, 

Their  wrath  severe  is  pretty  sure  to  cease  ; 
Their  Chieftain,  cherishing  his  love  concealed 

For  absent  bride  or  sweetheart,  stands  at  bay, 
And  through  their  ranks  a  thrill  of  joy  's  revealed — 

So  warriors  wait,  and  woman  wins  the  day  ! 

When  armies  on  the  move  for  fierce  attack, 

So  halt  in  silence  to  be  so  addressed, 
And  then,  with  grand  goodwill  and  thanks  turn  back, 

There  is  true  eloquence,  by  all  confessed  ; 
And  when  the  Chief,  in  every  inch  a  King, 

Protects  the  woman,  and  then  takes  to  wife 
"  The  rich  young  widow,"  we  rejoice  to  sing  : 

"  Heaven  bless  such  happy  means  of  healing  strife, 
And  let  the  realm  with  real  laudations  ring 

And  future  seasons  sacred  fruitage  bring  !" 


CHRISTMAS   READINGS.  63 

CHRISTMAS  READINGS  FOR  OUR  CHILDREN. 

["Unto  vis  a  Child  is  born,  unto  us  a  Son  is  given,  and  the 
government  shall  be  upon  His  shoulder,  and  His  name  shall  be 
called  Wonderful,  Counsellor,  the  Mighty  God,  the  Everlasting 
Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace.  Of  the  increase  of  His  government 
and  peace  there  shall  be  no  end.  And  Jesus  said  :  Suffer  the 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not ;  for  of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  God.  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the 
Gospel  to  every  creature,  and  lo,  I  am  with  you  always,  unto  the 
end  of  the  world." — Isaaihix.,  6;  Mark,  x.,  14;  xvi.,15;  Matthew 
xxviii.,  20.] 

Jesus  came  to  cheer  the  children, 

Laid  His  hands  upon  their  heads ; 
Looks  still  on  them  every  evening, 

As  they  seek  their  little  beds  ; 
Aye,  is  with  them  then  and  always, 

And  He  sees  them  everywhere, 
Listening  to  their  happy  voices — 

In  their  pastime  and  their  prayer. 

Come,  dear  children,  can  you  tell  me  why  the  Christ 

doth  love  you  so? 
Why  He   looks  so  kindly  on   you,  everywhere  you 

rightly  go  ? 
Why  He  sees  you,  and  is  sorry,  when  you  sin  and  go 

astray  ? 
Why  He  heard  you,  and  with  pleasure,  when  you  play 

and  when  you  pray  ? 

He  was  once  Himself  a  baby,  laid  upon  a  lowly  bed  ; 
Then  He  grew  to  early  boyhood,  and  His  little  play- 
mates led  ; 
Then  became  a  "Man  of  Sorrows,"  had  not  where  to 

lay  His  head  ; 
But  He  carried  others'  burdens,  healed  their  sick  and 

raised  their  dead. 

Once  He  took  a  child  that  loved  Him,  led  him  forth 
before  the  crowd, 


64  HASKELUS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

Saying:  "Ye  must  be  converted,  no  more  doubting, 

cruel,  proud, 
Or  ye  can  not  enter  Heaven  ;  for  the  child-like,  they 

are  mine ; 
All  your  sins  must  be  forgiven  ;  clean  your  record, 

every  line, 
And  your  hearts  as  chaste  and  happy  as  the  choicest 

little  child. 
Yes,  ye  must  be  all  converted,  like  me,  lowly,  meek 

and  mild, 
And,  like  children,  fond  and  trustful ;   for  in  this  I 

tell  you  true, 
That  their  angels  see  my  father,  face  to  [face,  with 

fondest  view  !  " 

Notice,  children,  how  Christ  loves  you ;  for  He  knows 

how  children  feel ; 
Aye,  He  calls  you  closer  to  Him,  that  He  may  your 

heartaches  heal ; 
And  He  says  :    "If  you  believe  Him,  better  that" a 

man  be  drowned, 
Than  to  make  your  hearts  to  hate  Him  or  your  enemy 

be  found." 
Then  let  children  hasten  to  Him,  and  let  no  one  dare 

forbid, 
For  of  such  is  God's  own  kingdom,  and  their  light 

can  not  be  hid. 
'Twas  the  child-like  that  loved  Jesus  when  He  lived 

and  died  on  earth; 

Then  to  all  "A  Merry  Christmas"  who  would   cele- 
brate his  birth  ! 
He  is  King  of  every   country;   tell  the  world   His 

wondrous  worth  ! 


NEW  ENGLAND  MOTHERS.  65 

''THE  MOTHERS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND,  AND  NEW  ENGLAND 
AS  A  MOTHER,  TOO." 

[A  toast  at  Bunker  Hill  Centennial— Denver,  July  17,  1875.] 

(Prelude.} 

"The  Mothers  of  New  England,  and 

New  England  as  a  Mother,  too," 

Are  themes  so  fruitful  and  so  grand, 

So  monumental  and  so  true, 
That  like  our  mountains  in  the  West, 

Or  granite  shaft  on  Bunker  Hill, 
They  greet  us  when  we  go  to  rest, 

And  when  we  wake  stand  watching  still. 

These  themes  you  give  ;  so  sacred  they, 

That  well  we  pause  before  the  past, 
Where  those  who  bore  us  used  to  pray, 

And  o'er  the  coming  future  cast 
Their  looks  of  longing,  love  and  awe, 

And  prayed  that  Puritanic  leaven 
Might  work,  through  liberty  and  law, 

From  land  to  land,  from  Barth  to  Heaven. 

Their  prayers  were  heard  ;  a  score  of  States 

Now  walk  New  England's  noblest  ways, 
Nor  either  for  another  waits, 

But  on  they  press,  like  busy  days, 
With  common  impulse,  efforts,  cares, 

With  people  that  are  Puritan 
Or  made  of  stuff  as  stern  as  theirs — 

New  England  bears  both  States  and  men  ! 

I. 

THE  MOTHERS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

(There  is  no  mother  but  was  once  a  maid.) 
Presenting  this  prolific  theme 

Requires  a  sort  of  resume, 
Of  scenes  historic,  as  they  seem, 

Until  the  dead  live  here  to-day  ! 


HASKELL'S  DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

Nor  yet  the  dames  alone  re-live — 
Before  the  mother  was  the  maid — 

So  we  must  dames  and  damsels  give, 
Till  Yankee  Woman  stands  arrayed 


NELLIE   ANN   DOVER.— A  YANKEE   GIRL- 

In  all  her  moral  wealth  of  mind, 
True  caution  and  true  culture,  too  ; 

So  conscientious  and  so  kind 

You  could  but -trust  her,  brave  and  true. 

"The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  "  seems 

But  yesterday.     The  May  Flower  lies 
At  anchor  on  our  sea  of  dreams, 

Beneath  the  cold  December  skies  ; 
And  Mary  Chilton,  maiden  fair, 

First  plants  her  feet  on  Plymouth  Rock,, 
And  leads  Rose  Standish,  loving,  there, 

Followed  by  Brewster  and  his  flock. 


NEW   ENGLAND   MOTHERS.  67 

If  I  had  Thomas  Crawford's  skill, 

Or  Story's,  in  his  "Sybil"  seen, 
Or  Harriet  Hosmer's — 'standing  still 

Before  Palmyra's  beauteous  Queen, 
I'd  make  a  model  of  this  maid, 

Clad  plain,  as  "Liberty"  complete, 
Her  robes  of  Freedom  well  arrayed, 

With  sword  and  shield  and  laurels  meet, 

And  future  empires  at  her  feet ; 
Yes,  such  would  seem  that  Yankee  maid  ! 


MADAME    DORCHESTER,    (1870). 

A  New  England  Mother,  Born  Near  the  Heights  Historic 
in  the  Siege  of  Boston. 

Then  near  her  side  should  sit  another, 

Symmetrical,  with  sacred  features, 
That  model,  "The  New  England  Mother," 

Completest  of  Christ's  earthly  creatures 
I'd  make  her  form  of  fearless  mold  ; 

Her  look  serene  as  summer  light, 
In  which  would  beam  a  wealth  untold 

Of  firm  regard  for  God  and  right. 


68  H ASKEW,' S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

As  when,  upon  Dorchester  heights 

Madam  John  Adams  watched  the  war, 
And  calmly  saw  the  sublime  sights 

Her  fearless  soul  had  long  sought  for, 
With  all  the  breadth  of  brow  and  brains, 

Her  portraits  here  and  there  present, 
The  Yankee  mother  still  retains 

Her  features  and  her  firm  intent. 
These  in  this  person  thence  appear, 

Both  solid,  brave  and  sensible  ; 
As  if  she  now  were  sitting  near 

That  very  place  upon  Penn's  Hill, 
The  patriot  cannonade  to  hear. 

In  her  embrace  a  bright-eyed  child — 

No  urchin,  nor  yet  churlish  elf, 
But  looking  mindful,  loving,  mild — 

Sits  in  her  lap,  her  second  self. 
The  dame  somewhat  demurely  sees 

The  life  work  of  that  little  one  ; 
Yet,  doubting  not  Divine  decrees, 

Would  wish  the  Will  Divine  be  done. 
Economy  could  not  compete 

With  her  considerate  watch  and  care  ; 
Her  character  is  so  complete, 

She's  owned  a  model  everywhere. 
Bathsheba's  ideal  bride  is  she, 

In  every  wifely  excellence, 
What  all  the  world  would  wish  to  see — 

A  husband's  best  inheritance  ! 

(Most  Sops  deem  their  own  Mothers  such.} 

Might  one  speak  here  from  his  full  heart, 
I'd  lead  forth  one  of  perfect  life, 

Whose  form  surpassed  the  power  of  art, 
A  model  woman,  mother,  wife. 


NEW   ENGLAND   MOTHERS.  69 

I'd  own  my  memory  first  awake, 
With  her  soft  hand  upon  my  head, 

While  her  kind  spirit,  whispering,  spoke 
So  plain  I  knew  the  prayer  she  said. 

Although  she  died  when  I  was  young, 

I  know  she  's  living  near  me  now  ; 
I  hear  the  accents  of  her  tongue  ; 

I  feel  her  hand  upon  my  brow  ! 
Your  hearts  feel,  too,  such  a  fond  hand? 

How  it  still  rests  upon  your  head  ! 
When  Mother,  stooping  near,  doth  stand, 

Or  bends  down  o'er  your  dainty  bed  ! 
Yes,  in  your  households  you  have  seen 

Her  likeness  in  the  lives  you  lead  ; 
How  quietly  she  holds,  as  Queen, 

The  parents,  children,  all,  indeed  ! 
So,  \vhen  I  see  walk  by  my  side, 

In  a  grown  Yankee  girl's  free  grace, 
The  goodly  form  that  was  my  guide, 

How  more  than  fair  's  my  mother's  face 
Nor  does  the  home  on  Burial  Hill, 

Of  one  both  dear,  of  Boston  birth, 
Throw  off  her  power  my  heart  to  thrill, 

Because  in  her  my  wife  shone  forth. 

(Shall  one  praise  his  Wife  when  she  is  away?} 

My  Boston  Wife  !     May  I  declare 

The  beauties  of  my  better  part, 
(Especially  since  she  's  not  here,) 

The  hope  and  motor  of  my  heart  ? 
God  bless  these  bachelors  around, 

With  helpmeets  half  as  good  as  mine ; 
Your  world  would  then  be  holier  ground, 

And  life  be  deemed  far  more  divine. 
Ah  !  had  your  fathers  faltered  thus, 

And  left  your  mothers  still  alone, 
60 


70  HASKELIVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

You  would  not  now  have  been  with  us  ; 

What  else  had  failed  cannot  be  known. 
Thank  Heaven,  all  ye  with  Yankee  wives  ; 

Ye  've  got  a  good  thing  from  above  ! 
May  latest  times  re-live  your  lives, 

And  childrens'  children  crown  your  love  ! 

(.The  Yankee  Woman} 

New  England  woman  !    World  renowned  ! 

O  why  hath  art  not  petrified 
Into  thy  form,  with  skill  profound, 

To  prove  whence  comes  New  England's  pride 
Lo  !  there  's  no  likeness  of  our  I/ord  ! 

Apostles  had  no -portraits  made  ; 
For  Christ  is  found  in  deed  and  word  ; 

Apostles  are  in  those  they  aid. 
'Tis  so  the  Yankee  woman's  seen — 

In  souls  and  actions  of  her  sons  ; 
In  queenly  daughters  she  is  queen  ; 

In  all  her  heirs  her  instinct  runs. 
What  morals  Yankee  mothers  gave  ; 

To  sons,  what  letters  do  they  send  ; 
What  heavenly  daughters,  too,  they  have  ; 

What  destinies  do  they  defend  ! 

(They  are  not  Peerless,  though.} 

Yet,  other  people  are  their  peers, 

Of  other  blood  than  Puritan  ! 
Kind  women  were  with  Cavaliers, 

The  mother,  sister,  wife  of  man. 
With  forms  as  fair  and  health  as  firm, 

With  will  as  calm  and  thought  as  clear,. 
With  head  as  wise  and  heart  as  warm — 

Our  Country's  Mothers  all  are  dear  ! 
"The  Father  of  his  Country"  had 

A  "mother  of  the  coming  man," 


NEW   ENGLAND  MOTHERS.  71 

And  on  her  tomb  is  simply  said  : 

"Mary,  Mother  of  Washington." 
'The  Savior  of  his  Country,"  too, 

Owed  his  wise  excellence  to  one, 
Who  truth  and  virtue  chiefly  knew, 

And  stamped  her  likeness  on  her  son. 
Lincoln,  Washington,  were  so, 

By  virtue  of  their  virtuous  blood, 
The  sons  of  mothers  always  true, 

Who  loved  humanity  and  God  ! 

How  every  State  has  still  its  type  ! 

A  sample  of  ancestral  heirs, 
In  forms  of  beauty,  fresh  and  ripe, 

And  each  and  all  distinctly  theirs. 

Find  nerves  in  the  New  England  face  ; 

See  stately  forms  from  Illinois  ; 
The  Southern  face  hath  sense  and  grace  ; 

Still  all  the  States  one  stamp  employ. 

(A  Sample  from  Each  Section  is  Given.} 

I  gave  my  word — as  good  's  my  bond — 

I  told  this  man,*  by  tongue  and  mouth, 
That  I'd  fetch  here  three  samples  fond, 

Of  East  and  West  and  Sunny  South. 
And  now  they  all — I  know  them  well — 

Well  represent  three  types  in  one, 
Where  they  were  born,  where  they  now  dwell, 

And  what  home  deeds  they  each  have  done. 

The  Sunny  South  hath  set  forth  one, 
Sedate  and  serious,  frank  and  free, 

Like  Ladies  Polk  and  Washington, 
With  instincts  of  her  ancestry. 

The  Yankee  girls  have  all  her  grace, 
Nor  less,  perhaps,  magnolia's  balm  ; 


*  The  Toast-master. 


72 


HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POKMS. 


MARION   WASHINGTON. 
A  Lady  of  the  Sunny  South,  1866. 


NEW   ENGLAND   MOTHERS. 


73 


AURORA  MAY.— A  ROCKY   MOUNTAIN   MAID.-(i888.) 
(See  Bunker  Hilt  Centennial.) 


74  HASKEUvS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

While  Faith  and  Hope,  in  both  we  trace, 

That  make  them  kind,  thoughtful  and  calm. 
And  when  the  Mountain  Maid  stands  up 

And  looks  the  future  in  the  face, 
Her  cornucopia's  full  cup 

Reveals  no  less  the  Nation's  race 
Of  women,  loved  of  every  land, 

The  product  of  a  glorious  past, 
That  doth  a  future  thus  command, 

Which  shineth  brighter  to  the  last. 
This  trio  seem  almost  triune  ; 

They  sing  the  same  national  airs, 
And  follow  each  familiar  tune 

With  similarity  of  prayers. 
Their  portraits — made  to  them  unknown, 

And  taken  by  a  sleight  of  hand — 
Have  no  pretexts  here  to  atone, 

Save  :  We  no  better  could  command  ! 
If,  therefore,  "stolen  water  's sweet,"  (Prov.  ix,iy), 

(Or  it  would  not  be  fit  to  steal), 
These  samples  are  the  surer  meet, 

Because  their  names  we  must  conceal ; 
And  to  nativity's  retreat, 

To  read  the  types  we  would  reveal. 
Permit  me,  therefore,  to  repeat — 

May  you  the  statement  understand — 
All  types  of  place  help  to  complete 

Th'  "ideal  Lady  of  the  Land  !" 

So  he  who  would  eclecticise, 

Selecting  every  excellence 
That  in  our  women  can  arise, 

And  in  one  person  these  condense, 
"The  beau  ideal  of  beauty  then — 

In  body,  heart  and  soul — would  be 
As  much  above  our  average  men 

As  allegoric  Liberty  ! 


NEW  ENGLAND  AS  A  MOTHER.  75 

0  woman  of  America  ! 

Stately  as  Freedom's  Statue  is  ; 

1  pause,  this  tribute  thus  to  pay, 

For  on  thee  hang  Earth's  destinies. 
May  you  win  equal  rights  with  men  ; 

No  more  than  they,  nor'one  jot  less, 
But  learn,  from  what  so  far  hath  been, 

With  mutual  bliss  mankind  to  bless  ! 


ii. 

"NEW  ENGLAND  AS  A  MOTHER,  TOO." 

New  England,  as  a  mother,  stands 

Like  high  Olympus,  home  of  gods  ; 
Her  bold  inventors  are  vast  bands  ; 

Her  rulers  bear  the  birchen  rods  ;  * 
Her  arts  of  use  and  beauty  rare, 

Which  fair  Parthena  patronized, 
Are  found  in  such  profusion  there 

Old  Zeus  himself  would  be  surprised. 


*  The  old    Roman  magistrates  had    borne    before  them  a 
bundle  of  birch  rods,  with  an  axe  bound  in  the  middle. 


HASKELI/S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

What  gives  New  Bngland  such  a  zest, 

But  Heaven's  warm  breathings  on  the  brain 
Of  sons  and  daughters  going  West 

To  live  good  Pilgrim  lives  again, 
Where  many  a  fair  Athena's  sprung, 

Fresh  and  full-born  from  the  same  head  ? 
And  though  her  oldest  are  still  young, 

They're  every  one  Minerva  bred. 
Her  live  ideas  lead  all  the  Earth 

To  love  thought  more,  nor  things  the  less  ; 
Her  manufactures,  of  late  birth, 

Now  beat  the  world  in  ways  to  bless  ; 
And  while  her  commerce  is  unfurled, 

On  every  sea  and  every  shore, 
Her  Waltham  watches  wake  the  world 

To  wealth  and  wisdom,  more  and  more. 
Now,  looms  and  spindles,  put  to  sleep, 

Long  ere  our  daylight  was  withdrawn, 
Rest  on  their  arms,  and  silent  keep 

Their  wakeful  watch  for  coming  dawn  ; 
Then  ere  we've  ope'd  our  waking  eyes 

To  look  good  morrow  in  the  face, 
Their  shuttles,  teaching  that  time  flies, 

Will  gallop  in  so  rapid  pace 
That,  like  a  full  brigade  of  horse, 

They'll  canter  countless  leagues  ere  night, 
And  almost  raise  in  Time  remorse, 

For  bringing  on  so  fierce  a  fight. 

LO  !  such  a  din  not  long  ago, 

Was  heard  in  Springfield  arsenal, 

When  Yankee  mothers  yearned  to  go 
Forth  in  their  sons,  at  Freedom's  call ! 

O,  busy  was  that  burdened  hour  ! 

Most  pious  sons  made  haste  to  pour. 
In  streams  of  life  and  death,  and  power, 

From  Boston  down  through  Baltimore, 


NEW   ENGLAND   AS   A   MOTHER. 

To  "Seats  of  War"  at  Washington, 

Where  Lincoln,  all  beleaguered,  stood 
To  save  the  Union  as  her  Son, 

And  seal  her  blessings  with  his  blood. 
How  all  New  England  rung  her  bells 

With  virtuous  joy  o'er  victories  won  ; 
While  tender  tolling  also  tells 

Of  martyr  deeds,  so  many,  done ! 
In  all  this  country  angels  keep 

Due  watch  o'er  dear  and  war  worn  dead, 
Where  sires  and  sons  together  sleep, 

While  Truth  and  Progress  peaceful 'tread. 


But  hark  !    The  century  clock  strikes  one  ! 

It  echoes  o'er  the  Continent, 
Repeating  deeds  by  patriots  done 

Near  Bunker  Hill's  bold  monument ! 
To  arms  !  to  arms  !  was  whispered  low, 

A  hundred  years  ago  last  night. 
To  arms  ! !  a  century  ago, 

Rang  out  more  loud  with  morning's  light ; 

61 


78  HASKELI/S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

For  there  New  England's  sons  had  reared 

Their  sullen  breast-works,  still  and  stem — 
On  Bunker  Hill — and  nothing  feared, 

When  British  wrath  began  to  burn. 
Nay  !    Soon  they  saw  Charlestown  afire  ! 

Before  them  faced  the  sacking  foe  ; 
And  patriots  burned  with  hot  desire 

To  lay  the  ruthless  tyrants  low  ! 

Though  'bove  them  boomed  the  cannon  ball, 

And  'mong  them  fell  hot  shot  and  shell, 
The  patriots  stood  without  appal, 

While  some  in  enforced  silence  fell, 
Till  eye  to  eye  battalions  met, 

Then  reeling  back  th'  assailants  ran — 
The  patriot's  powder  lasted  yet, 

And  each  was  "every  inch  a  man  !" 
They  see  an  almost  saintly  form 

There,  moving  on  that  martial  hill, 
And  facing  down  the  foreign  storm 

By  dint  of  his  undaunted  will  ! 
His  face  is  pale,  but  not  from  fear  ; 

He's  hasted  from  a  bed  of  pain — 
In  life's  meridian — day  and  year — 

He'll  never  take  that  bed  again  ! 
That  Major  General  takes  his  place 

Among  the  privates  in  the  scene  ; 
The  light  of  Moses  on  his  face  ; 

The  fate  of  empires  in  his  mien  ! 
When  the  last  ball  that  matrons  run 

From  the  last  loaded  musket's  shot, 
He  stands  defiant  in  the  sun  ; 

He  falls  !  and  sanctifies  the  spot ! 
As  Warren  fell — the  first  of  rank — 

Our  rights  arose  upon  his  fall  ; 
The  sacred  soil  of  Freedom  drank 

His  blood,  and  that  enfranchised  all ! 


NEW  ENGLAND  AS  A  MOTHER.         79 

O  great  the  day  !     O  grand  the  hour  ! 

When  hearts  so  brave,  with  hopes  so  high, 
Held  Freedom's  future  in  their  power, 

And  for  that  future  dared  to  die  ! 
The  fights  at  Concord,  Lexington, 

Sent  thrills  of  horror,  near  and  far  ; 
But  this  fierce  battle  ! — the  first  one — 

Broke  loose  the  Revolution  war  ! 
Shook  old  Oppression's  very  throne  ; 

Enthroned  instead  our  Liberty  ! 
Bade  Barth  our  Independence  own  ; 

And  all  the  oppressed  at  length  go  free  ! 
So  be  this  day,  "  First  Battle  Day  !" 

By  which  our  Nation  had  its  birth, 
A  witness  sworn  of  Yankee  sway, 

Till  Freedom  flourish  round  the  Earth  ! 
And  Bunker  Hill,  baptized  in  blood  ! 

Live  thou  in  every  nation's  life, 
And  age  on  age  inspire  the  good, 

To  fight  for  right  till  ends  the  strife, 
And  own  New  England's  motherhood  ! 

'  New  England  as  a  Mother" — and 

"The  Mothers  of  New  England,"  too. 
Are  themes  so  fruitful  and  so  grand, 

So  monumental  and  so  true, 
That — like  our  mountains  in  the  West, 

Or  granite  shaft  on  Bunker  Hill — 
They  greet  us  when  we  go  to  rest, 

And  when  we  wake,  stand  watching  still ! 
Exhaustless  themes  !    so  sacred  they, 

'Tis  well  we  've  paused  before  the  past, 
Where  they  who  bore  us  used  to  pray — 

That  we  may  o'er  the  future  cast 
Our  looks  of  longing,  love  and  awe, 

And  ask  that  Puritanic  leaven 
May  work  through  Liberty  and  Law, 

From  land  to  land,  from  Earth  to  Heaven  ! 


80  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

"THE  HUB"  AND  "OLD  NEW  ENGLAND  HOME." 
(Written  for  the  New  England  Society,  Madison,  Wisconsin, 

December  22,  1867.) 

[The  Hon.  Mr.  Carpenter,  Dean  of  the  Law  Faculty  of  the 
University,  sent  a  student  named  Dexter  to  me,  while  at  my  din- 
ner one  day,  praying  me  to  be  sure  and  attend  that  evening  a 
meeting  of  New  Englanders,  to  arrange  for  the  celebration  of 
"Forefather's  Day,"  at  which  the  venerable  Colonel  Atwood,  of 
the  Madison  Journal,  presided.  With  these  facts  the  following 
poem  will  explain  itself,  if  the  reader  notes  also  that  the  author 
was  born  in  Chautauqua  County,  New  York,  his  wife  in  Boston, 
and  that  he  himself  lived  eight  years  in  the  New  England  me- 
tropolis.] 

One  day  as  I  went  down  to  dine, 

And  was  about  to  offer  thanks, 
For  corn  and  oil — without  the  wine— 

And  all  sat  round  in  grateful  ranks, 
To  bless  their  Maker  for  good  food, 

And  for  good  appetites  as  w^ll, 
L,o  !    by  me  a  pale  student  stood, 

Who  had  a  piteous  tale  to  tell. 

He  said,  (with  very  Dexter-ous  grace), 

A  certain  Carpenter  had  sent, 
To  know  if  I  would  lend  my  face  ! 

Of  course  my  phiz  to  order  went. 
Then  I  was  asked  to  lend  my  hand, 

And  signed  some  sort  of  solemn  prayer — 
To  be  admitted  to  a  band 

Of  men  abounding  everywhere. 

I  owned  my  birth  one-half  down  Bast, 

The  other  half-way  toward  the  West, 
But  that,  one  thing  I  knew,  at  least, 

My  Eastern  half  is  owned  the  best — 
This  did  abate  the  zeal  a  mite  ; 

And  yet,  "the  better  half"  held  goodr 
And  so  the  prayer  was  partly  right — 

The  Wife  has  rights  of  brotherhood  ! 


THE   HUB.  81 

And,  as  we  twain  are  also  one — 

My  parents,  too,  were  Simon  pure — 
And  I  in  law  New  England's  son, 

I  might  be  honorary,  sure  ; 
And  furthermore,  though  I  might  fail 

To  make  arrangements  for  my  birth, 
My  Bastern  life  would  some  avail 

To  place  me  with  these  sons  of  worth. 

Thus  ran  the  talk  a  little  way  ; 

And  then  commenced  another  "run" — 
The  planking  down  important  pay, 

When  all  were  counted  "two  in  one." 
Then  a  calm  man,  in  locks  of  gray, 

And  looks  as  beaming  as  the  sun — 
A  very  Solon — deigned  to  say  : 
"Next  Friday  night  's  a  time  for  fun  ! 

And  be  it  sternly  understood, 

That  '  Mother  Wit '  must  then  be  shown, 
To  prove  one's  Yankee  motherhood, 

And  that  no  man  may  come  alone  !" 
With  this  conclusion,  home  all  went — 

We  hope  their  wives  all  found  it  so — 
And  ever  since,  their  time  have  spent 

In  coaxing  "  Mother  Wit "  to  go  ! 

For  one,  I  could  but  half  conclude 

To  try  the  gauntlet  any  how  ; 
I  feared  I  might  "one-half"  intrude, 

And  one-half  fear  it  even  now. 

And  "  Mother  Wit "  was  never  mine ; 

And,  vice  versa,  I'm  not  hers  ; 
I  never  worshiped  at  her  shrine  ; 

A  firmer  friend  my  faith  prefers. 


82  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

But  then,  I  love  my  Eastern  home  ; 

I  miss  a  thousand  things  around  ; 
I  sympathize  with  all  who  roam 

So  far  away  from  Pilgrim  ground  ; 
And  can  but  lift  my  harp  to  sing 

A  willing,  though  a  wanton  song, 
Which  hastes,  in  boyish  glee  to  bring, 

Sweet  memories  in  a  medley  throng. 

ii. 

Away  down  East  there  is  a  bay, 

All  coasted  round,  so  like  a  tub, 
That  Boston  wits  are  wont  to  say  : 

This  enclosed  town  must  be  "The  Hub,: 
Our  harbor  just  a  dripping  pan, 

To  hold  whatever  good  there  is 
On  sea  and  land,  for  mortal  man — 

An  immense  reservoir  of  bliss ! 

'Tis  said,  they  say — and  this  may  be  — 
That  wisdom,  craft,  creation,  too, 

Would  hang  their  harps  upon  a  tree, 
And  have  on  Earth  no  more  to  do, 

If  Boston  should  be  blotted  out, 

Or  her  "Dutch  Cousin"  get  ahead, 

And  fill  the  world  with  saur  kraut, 
Instead  of  rye  and  Indian  bread. 

They  say,  that  "  Boston  smacks  of  Greece ' 

Is  quite  Athenian,  I  mean — 
And  has  all  things,  except  the  fleece 

Of  Phryxu's  ram,  and  Juno's  spleen  : 
The  fleece  of  gold  they  sometimes  claim, 

The  very  fleece  old  Jason  sought— 
They've  only  modernized  the  name, 

Till  merchant  prince  means  Argonaut. 


THE   HUB.  83. 

They  say,  and  so,  too,  this  may  be, 

That  Freedom  is  of  Boston  birth, 
That  there  was  "cradled"  Liberty, 

The  queen  apparent  of  the  Earth  ;  . 
That  Warren,  Otis,  Hancock,  too — 

Who  wrote  his  rebel  name  so  big, 
That  "Johnny  Bull  "  could  read  it  through 

Without  his  specks  or  powdered  wig — 

Were  patriots  of  a  peerless  blood  ; 

That  round  them  rallied,  one  by  one,. 
The  wise,  the  wealthy  and  the  good, 

Like  Franklin,  Morris,  Washington  ; 
That  Burke,  and  Pitt,  and  Lafayette, 

Aspired  to  be  their  friends  and  peeis, 
And  everywhere,  all  patriots  yet 

Revere  them  more  with  passing  yeais. 

They  say,  that  ships  of  every  size 

Are  made  and  manned  in  Boston's  Bay> 
And  that  they  almost  cleave  the  skies, 

So  fast  they  sail,  so  far  away, 
And  bear  religion,  vice  and  rum, 

To  the  most  fallen  pagan  fools, 
Who  will  not  to  her  markets  come, 

Nor  even  set  up  common  schools  ; 

That  her  big  organs  are  so  rare, 

And  her  pianos  are  so  choice, 
That,  touch  their  key-notes  anywhere, 

They'll  quite  surpass  a  seraph's  voice  ; 
That  apparatus  made  to  sell, 

For  college,  court,  and  cot  and  camp, 
Will  serve  the  world  six  times  as  well 

For  having  on  some  Boston  stamp. 

They  say, — and  who  denies  the  truth? 
That  Boston  books  are  built  and  sold 


84  HASKElvL'S   DOMESTIC    POEMS. 

For  rich  and  poor,  for  sage  and  youth, 

And  that  they're  worth  their  weight  in  gold  ; 

That  Art  and  Science,  early  wed, 

Have  there  so  led  the  Church  and  State, 

That  Boston's  very  learned  head 

Wears  all  the  outside  world  as  pate  ! 

They  say — I  can't  tell  all  they  say — 

That  Boston  is  a  place  superb  ! 
And,  leave  her  Common  anyway, 

A  pleasant  ride  to  some  suburb, 
Will  make  one  wish  to  live  so  long, 

If  he  could  only  live  just  there, 
That  dying  would  be  very  wrrong, 

And  Heaven  no  better  anywhere  ! 

Now  what  "they  say"  is  somewhat  true  ; 

For  all  who've  breathed  her  vital  air, 
Or  studied  Boston  through  and  through, 

Admit  that  she's  no  sham  affair  ! 
I'll  boast  of  Boston  any  hour, 

And  own  the  half  no  one  can  tell  ; 
For  even  here  I  feel  her  power, 

And  love  her  memories  all  too  well ! 

I  love  God's  acres,  where  to  rest, 

She  lays  her  dear  and  honored  dead, 
Her  saints  and  sages,  ever  blest, 

For  what  they've  done,  and  thought  and  said 
I  love  her  busy,  buoyant  ways, 

Her  Phoenix  life  from  sword  and  flame  ; 
And  o'er  the  world  resounds  her  praise, 

Since  all  the  woild  has  heard  her  fame. 

in. 

Yet  Boston's  but  one  daughter,  born 
In  the  old  home  we've  met  to  bless — 


DEAR   OLD   NEW   ENGLAND   HOME.  So 

Dear  old  New  England  ;  and  we  scorn 
To  make  such  children  motherless. 

A  countless  catalogue  of  towns — 

I^ike  Portland,  Concord,  Lexington — 

Have  given  to  her  their  good  renowns 
And  world  wide  reputations  won. 

Her  rural  parts,  too,  picturesque, 

And  homelike  in  their  old  highways, 
Are  all  so  dear,  that  from  my  desk 

My  soul  oft  goes  to  sing  their  praise. 
Her  rivers  more  than  run  her  mills, 

And  learn  to  weave  and  spin  so  well, 
They  leap  and  laugh  along  her  hills, 

Till  pulses  throb  and  bosoms  swell 
With  the  full  life  New  England  feels  ; 

While  hands  and  horse,  and  steam  obey 
The  cadence  of  their  water  wheels, 

And  haste  to  bear  her  goods  away. 

Her  schools  and  churches  add  a  charm 

To  every  scene  and  art,  and  hour, 
To  city,  country,  factory,  farm  ; 

Though  in  their  homes  is  hidd'n  their  power. 
Her  halls  of  learning,  high  and  low, 

Have  rare  repute  in  distant  parts, 
Where'er  their  God-sent  scholars  go, 

With  finished  culture  and  fine  arts. 

Old  Harvard,  Dartmouth,  Williams,  Yale, 
Brown,  Amherst,  Boudoin,  and  the  fair 

Twin  rivals  where  the  mountain  gale 
Bears  o'er  the  lake  Olympian  air, 

Can  count  their  scholars  men  of  power — 
Historians,  poets,  statesmen,  sages — 

Who've  done,  are  doing  at  this  hour, 

Those  mighty  deeds  that  mold  the  ages. 

62 


86  HASKELVS   DOMESTIC    POEMS. 

With  massy,  rich,  Websteriau  speech, 

With  grasp  and  grace  of  Bancroft's  style, 
Adown  the  future,  far  they'll  reach, 

And  thrill  the  thinking  world  the  while— 
And  fair  young  hearts  from  Mount  Holyoke, 

Where  Mary  Avon's  mantle  fell, 
Shall  healing  virtues  hence  evoke 

And  shed  afar  their  Heaven  born  spell  ; 

Till,  as  the  mountain  tops  of  gold, 

Ablaze  in  softest  haze  of  blue, 
Shed  forth  a  glory  new  and  old, 

Enriching  landscapes  old  and  new, 
Her  schools  and  churches,  here  and  there, 

Her  homes  with  altars,  warm  inside, 
Shall  lift  all  lands  her  light  to  share, 

And  so  proclaim  New  England's  pride, 
Her  pious  knowledge,  that  has  power, 

The  sweetest  power  that  e'er  held  sway. 
That  holds  the  fortress  of  the  hour, 

The  future  of  America  ; 
Till  old  New  England's  aim  for  good, 

That  breathes  her  home  life  far  abroad, 
Shall  stamp  on  human  brotherhood 

The  heavenly  Fatherhood  of  God  ! 

Ah  !  who  that's  knelt  beside  her  shrine— 

With  sires  and  sons  on  either  hand, 
And  marked  her  deep  homebred  design, 

To  send  forth  light  to  every  laud — 
And  lit  his  torch  at  her  live  fire, 

Does  not  go  forth  a  grander  man, 
Jmpelled  by  her  supreme  desire 

T'  accomplish  all  that  mortals  can  ? 


THE  EMPIRE  STATE.  87 

NEW  ENGLAND'S  PEER,   "THE  EMPIRE  STATE." 

Read  at  a  Knickerbocker  Festival  on  New  Year's  Eve,  1868. 

Madison — Midnight. 

I. 
'Tis  well  to  mark  how,  every  morn, 

New  England  challenges  New  York  ; 
On  wings  of  light  her  salute  's  borne, 

To  wake  her  sister  up  to  work, 
Till  rivalries  of  every  kind 

A  noble  emulation  move, 
And  constant  causes  well  combined, 
Confirm  their  vows  of  mutual  love. 

Like  Pilgrims  upon  Plymouth  Rock, 

Were  Huguenot  exiles  from  France  ; 
And  Holland's  sons  are  Pilgrim  stock, 

Though  slow,  and  sure,  in  Time's  advance. 
The  sprightly  naivete  of  the  one, 

And  vis  ineratice  of  the  other, 
Prove  they  are  each  his  mother's  son — 

The  Yankee's  peer  and  patriot  brother. 

Look,  where  those  Frenchmen  worshiped  last, 

Around  the  ashes  of  their  Church  ! 
While  midnight  darkness  o'er  them  cast, 

Averts  the  persecutor's  search  ! 
With  what  a  chastened  might  they  come 

Thence  o'er  the  seas,  that  they  may  dwell 
Unhunted  here,  in  Freedom's  home, 

And  consecrate  their  "New  Rochelle." 

The  Dutchmen,  more  rotund  than  they, 

With  larger  burkeys,  boots  and  brains, 
For  broader  rights  to  thrive  and  pray, 

Forsook  their  homes  on  Holland  plains,. 
And,  like  some  God-sent  Abraham, 

Lay  claim  to  rich  Manhattan's  Isle  ; 
And  there,  in  their  New  Amsterdam, 

Grow  rounder,  richer  all  the  while. 


88  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

So  Gotham  has  so  greatly  grown — 

(We  sink  the  "York  "  in  soubriquet) — 
She  'd  feed  and  clothe  the  world  alone, 

If  all  the  world  would  come  and  pay. 
Her  monstrous  markets  !    and  all  filled 

With  food  for  millions  and  to  spare  ; 
While  her  wide  farms  are  so  well  tilled, 

Her  Empire  's  plenteous  everywhere. 

But  why  should  we  presume  to  boast 

The  State's  great  city  !     There,  to-day 
She  's  roofed  Manhattan,  coast  to  coast, 

And  leapt  her  boundary  every  way, 
A  giant  child  of  the  great  State, 

Whose  victor  name  she  proudly  bears, 
Wherever  opes  the  golden  gate 

To  welcome  in  her  ships  and  wares. 

II. 

New  World's  Emporium  !    There  she  stands, 

Not  "  on  a  hill,"  and  yet  "  not  hid  ;" 
The  grand  amazement  of  all  lands  ; 

We  can't  describe  her— facts  forbid  ! 
For  Robert  Fulton,  Morse  and  Field, 

Have  got  the  world  within  their  sling, 
And  bid  the  Earth  to  New  York  yield 

The  honors  their  inventions  bring. 

Though  Beecher,  Bryant,  Field  and  Morse, 

And  many  more,  like  Franklin,  are 
New  Euglanders  in  birth  and  force, 

Their  full  adoption  's  also  fair.    • 
The  minister,  the  merchant  prince, 

The  leaders  in  both  peace  and  wars, 
I/ike  Greeley,  thy  great  heart  evince — 

Thy  wealth  and  worth,  like  Dodge  and  Storrs. 


THE  EMPIRE  STATE.  89 

Peerless  Metropolis  !     We  've  stood 

Around  thy  hearths  at  midnight's  hour  ; 
Watched  o'er  thine  immense  brotherhood, 

In  slumbers  bound,  within  thy  power  ; 
Sounded  thy  silence,  till  the  day 

Rolled  up  the  leaden  dark  of  night, 
Then  felt  thy  magic  pulses  play 

With  Jove's  and  Vulcan's  double  might. 

Have  moved  in  halls  of  millionaires, 

Have  marked  the  maudlin  haunts  of  sin, 
Have  sauntered  through  thy  thoroughfares, 

Heard  the  incessant  surge  and  din. 
And  caught  from  many  dark  recesses — 

That  endless  round  of  rumbling  beats — 
Where  thy  full  tide  of  printing  presses, 

Is  rolling  out  their  million  sheets. 

Have  studied  thy  book-vender's  stalls, 

Like  Carter's,  Harper's,  Appleton's ; 
Have  feasted,  too,  within  the  halls 

Of  Astor,  Cooper — thy  wise  sons, 
Who  've  beat  the  ancient  Ptolemies, 

With  better  books  for  better  use, 
Where  all  one  reads  is  freely  his, 

And  ignorance  has  no  excuse  ; 

Have  heard  thy  novelists  and  wits, 

Where  Irving  had  his  home  and  birth, 
Where  reparte  and  polished  hits 

Come,  rousing  pleasantry  and  mirth  ; 
Where  Clinton,  Jay  and  Livingstone 

Their  offices  so  magnified, 
And  Alexander  Hamilton. 

With  other  great  men,  lived  and  died  ; 

Have  listened  to  thine  eloquence, 

Quite  unsurpassed  the  world  around, 


90  HASKEUVS   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

Where  wise  men  spoke  in  Truth's  defense, 
Till  where  they  stood  seemed  holy  ground 

Where  Talmage,  Adams,  Storrs  and  Tynge 
Have  held  assemblies  long  entranced, 

And  oft  have  made  the  welkin  ring, 

Till  at  their  words  the  world  advanced. 

Have  seen  where  thy  best  poets  drank, 

And  where  Apollo  bathed  their  lyre  ; 
Where  Cullen  Bryant,  high  in  rank, 

Hath  pitched  his  tent  and  lit  his  fire; 
Where  Phil.  Freneau,  with  loyal  soul, 

Led  forth  the  Nation's  nursery  song  ; 
Where  Pollen's  numbers  gently  roll, 

And  Halleck  swept  with  vigor  on. 

Where  Bethune,  Bleeker,  Willis,  Clarke, 
In  concert  struck  the  storied  shell, 

Till  Heaven  bent  down  her  ear  to  hark — 
They  tuned  their  sacred  lyres  so  well  ; 

We  e'en  pursued  Drake  in  his  flight, 
'When  carrying  off  his  "  Culprit  Fay;" 

Yet,  did  not  long  with  him  alight, 
On  Hudson  Highlands  ;  but  away 

We  sped  to  join  the  woodland  song 

Of  "  Fanny  Forester's  sweet  bird," 
Till,  borne  o'er  lakes  and  woods  along, 

The  whole  broad  State,  with  music  stirred  ; 
Enriching  romance  of  real  life, 

Beyond  the  Revolution's  day, 
Where  the  deep  wounds  of  mortal  strife 

Iveft  scars  that  speak  and  last  for  aye. 

in. 

MY  NATIVE  STATE  !    Thy  lakes  and  parks 

So  rich,  resorts  of  Iroquois, 
Have  many  large  and  lasting  marks 

Of  long-agone  wrild  scenes  of  joy, 


THE  EMPIRE  STATE. 

Where  the  six  Nations  of  brave  men, 

Those  Romans  of  America, 
Held  in  fee  simple  height  and  glen — 

How  hardly  passed  their  right  away  ! 

We  've  marked  the  vivid,  valient  mien 

Of  the  Mohicans,  first  and  last, 
And  counted  all  the  years  between, 

Till  age  on  age  have  quickly  passed  ; 
And  the  wild  panther,  wolf  and  bear, 

That  prowled  around  the  Red  Man's  tent, 
Have  fled  to  sunset  regions,  where 

"The  last  of  the  Mohicans"  went. 
A  lonely  Mohawk,  here  and  there, 

Is  asked  by  brother  Seneca 
The  cause  of  their  prolonged  despair, 

The  reason  of  their  race-decay  ; 
Why  our  Republic  grows  in  power, 

While  their  Republic  passed  away  ! 
The  answer  echoes  here  this  hour  ; 

Mark  what  the  remnant  Mohawks  say  : 
'  They  first  usurped  our  native  soil ; 
Then  sped  our  hunting  grounds  to  spoil  ; 

Our  fathers'  mounds  to  rudely  mar, 

And  wake  us  to  unequal  war  ! 
Then,  not  their  valor  more  than  ours, 
Nor  yet  their  bone  and  sinewed  powers, 

But  knowledge  tells  the  simple  tale 

Why  they  did  flourish,  we  did  fail  ! " 
Those  Mohawks  thus  seem  men  of  sense  ; 

They  know  New  York  now  leads  the  van, 
Promoting  schools  without  pretence, 

For  every  child  of  thinking  man, 
Wnile  the  whole  State  is  bound  in  one, 

By  iron  nerves  and  bonds  so  well, 
That  things  and  thoughts  thus  flow  and  run, 

Like  music  from  some  midnight  bell. 


92  HASKELL'S   DOMESTIC   POEMS. 

IV. 
But  hark  !  It  is  a  bell  I  hear  ! 

It  sounds  as  from  my  native  town — 
Along  Chautauqua  lakes  so  clear — 

That  rich  old  bell  of  rare  renown, 
That  tolled  out  every  dying  year, 

And  with  delight  called  new  ones  down  ; 
Without  a  tear,  without  a  fear, 

From  old  to  new  transferred  the  crown. 

New  Netherland  seems  now  forgot ! 

But  in  each  village,  long  ago, 
There  stood  in  some  sonorous  spot 

A  spire  whose  bell  swung  to  and  fro  ; 
First,  as  for  grief,  and  then  for  joy ; 

It  was  a  trans-Atlantic  bell ; 
But  still  it  sounds  as  when  a  boy 

I  heard  its  tones  and  loved  them  well  I 

So  solemnly  it  tolled  and  said  : 
"  'Tis  midnight,  and  the  year  is  dead  !" 

Then  in  a  moment  sang,  "  'Tis  morn  ! 

And  a  new  happy  year  is  born  !" 
Then  round  and  round  its  last  words  fly 
And  say  to  all :     "God  speed  !   good  bye  !" 

Good  bye — the  faintest  trembling  sigh — 

Good  bye  !  years,  music,  men  must  die  ! 


Contents  of  Domestic  Poems. 


PAGE 

Title,  etc i 

Preface 3 

How  Happy  I  Would  Be 5 

"Spud"  and  Gray,  Fido,  "Ned"  and  Bay 6 

Ned  to  Spud 7 

Ned's  Valentine — The  First  and  Last 10 

You  Asked  My  Muse  to  Sing  a  Song — Sponsio 12 

Husband's  Thanks  for  a  Thoughtful  Wife 16 

The  First  Born  Baby— Not  a  Boy 18 

We  Have  Laid  to  Rest  Our  Darling 19- 

We  Have  Two  More  Little  Love  Pets         20 

"I'm  Thinking  of  God,"  said  Florence 21 

My  Little  Sisters,  Lum  and  Sum      22 

Life  on  the  Rio  Grande — Impromptu 23 

Bread  Pills— A  Poor  Hypocondriac 24 

Per  Contra — A  Good  Physician 27 

Fraternal  Love— Never  Unsafe  and  Never  Alone 28 

Musing  Near  My  Parents'  Monument 29 

"  Them  Ancestors  of  Ours  " 32 

Dedication  Hymn,  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Home 33 

Sic  Annus  Moribundus — Old  Years  and  New 34 

Thoughts  at  Thirty-Five—Impromptu 36 

The  Widow  of  Nain  and  Her  Only  Son 37 

To  a  Drowned  Brother — Juvenile 39 

Mourning  Scene  in  Andover  Seminary 40 

A  Second  Anniversary  of  Sorrow 41 

Mrs.  Edwards'  Dying  Words 43 

Death  of  a  Benefactress 45 

Rizpah — A  Mother's  Sister's  Love 46 

Hagar  in  the  Wilderness  Alone 47 

Hagar's  Second  Scene  of  Sorrow 49 

Abraham  Offering  Isaac— Parental  Consecration 50 

Sarah's  Death  Scene-A  Widower's  Sorrow       52 

Eliezer  Brings  Rebekah  to  Relieve  Him  .   .           53 

Eli  and  Betsey— Unequal  Mating 55 

Fit  Marriage  and  the  Family  Members 56 


ii.  CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

An  Ideal  Family— Obituary  of  G.  H.  Haskell 58 

A  Virtuous  Mother  to  Her  Son  of  Maiw  Vows 60 

A  Wise  Wife  and  Beautiful  Widow — Abigail 61 

Christmas  Readings  for  Our  Children 63 

"  The  Mothers  of  New  England  " — Women  of  America     .   .  65 

"  New  England  as  a  Mother,  Too" 75 

The  Cradle  of  Liberty  and  Bunker  Hill 79 

The  Hub  and  Old  New  England  Home 80 

The  Empire  State— New  England's  Peer 87 


Illustrations. 


PAGK 


A  Lady  on  Horseback  and  Approaching  Escort...  6 

The  Likeness  of  "Spud" 7 

Rural  Retreat 10 

Seated  by  the  Lake 12 

Papa  With  His  Pets 20 

Little  Sisters,  Luin  and  Sum 22 

The  Learned  Doctor  and  His  Likeness 25 

"Dear  Flonie" 42 

Nellie  Ann  Dover — A  Yankee  Girl 66 

Madame  Dorchester— A  New  England  Mother...  67 

Marion  Washington,  of  the  Sunny  South 72 

Aurora  May — A  Rocky  Mountain   Maid 73 

Woman  of  America  —  Goddess  of  Liberty 75 


Haskell's  Konkaput 


Occasional  Poems. 


OPINIONS     OF    THE     PRESS. 


While  no  adverse  criticism  of  this  book  has  yet 
appeared,  it  is  quite  gratifying  to  see  with  what  em- 
phasis and  unanimity  the  press  has  commended  these 
poems,  for  both  their  local  interest  and  their  pros- 
pective permanence  in  the  popular  literature  of  this 
country.  Below  are  a  few  extracts,  given  as  samples 
of  the  best  editorial  opinions  : 

From   THE  ROCKY  MOUNT  A  [N  NEWS— 
(FOUNDED  1859). 

Some  time  since  two  paper  covered  volumes  of  Poems  from 
the  pen  of  Professor  T.  N.  Haskell,  issued  successively  from  the 
press.  The  first  was  entitled  "Young  Konkaput,  the  King  of 
Utes  ;  a  Legend  of  Twin  Lakes,"  and  is  a  poem  about  the  length 
of  Hiawatha.  The  hero  is  an  ideal  educated  Indian,  who  real- 
izes and  depicts  the  only  possible  hjftppy  future  for  his  race,  and 
falls  a  victim  to  ts  ingratitude.  Though  called  a  legend,  there 
are  many  incidents  in  Konkaput  of  historic  importance,  and 
many  fine  descriptions  and  passages  of  great  beauty.  "The 
Key  to  Konkaput,  or  the  Fate  of  the  Meeker  Family,"  will  be 
read  with  rare  interest.  The  second  volume  contains  a  number 
of  shorter  poems,  Foreign,  Patriotic,  Juvenile  and  Domestic. 


The  Foreign  Poems  show  that  Professor  Haskell  has  been  an 
extensive  traveller,  and  reproduce  the  first  impressions  received 
at  the  places  that  inspired  them.  The  Centennial  Poems  and 
others  on  national  subjects,  are  full  of  true  patriotic  feeling,  and 
whatever  the  topic  touched,  the  sentiment  is  always  on  the  right 
side.  These  two  volumes  are  now  united  in  one  book,  neatly 
bound  in  cloth  and  morocco,  and  offered  to  the  public.  This 
volume  is  in  clear  print,  on  good  paper,  and  contains  numerous 
illustrations.  Kven  those  who  possess  the  separate  books  will 
be  glad 'to  obtain  them  in  this  more  substantial  and  attractive 
form.  Besides  points  of  special  interest  to  Western  readers,  the 
work  possesses  literary  merit  that  will  win  and  hold  its  place 
with  the  reading  world. 

From  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  HERALD— 

(FOUNDED  i85o). 

"  Haskell's  Konkaput,  King  of  the  Utes"  with  "Occasional 
Poems  at  Home  and  Abroad,"  is  an  attractive  volume  of  some 
five  hundred  pages  well  illustrated  by  the  best  of  Colorado  artists. 
Indeed,  the  entire  book,  beautifully  printed,  is  the  product  of 
Colorado  talent,  and  should,  therefore,  be  more  readily  purchased 
and  appreciated  by  our  home  people.  The  chief  poem  was 
written  to  illustrate  the  Indian  Question  in  the  United  States, 
and  incidentally  presents  our  relations  to  all  the  colored  races 
of  this  country.  This  is  done  by  creating  two  or  more  imagin- 
ary personages,  and  preparing  them  by  eventful  experiences, 
observation,  travel  and  education  to  tell  the  story,  each  to  their 
own  race,  with  intelligent  and  thrilling  eloquence. 

"  The  Key  to  Konkaput,  or  the  Fate  of  the  Meeker  Family,', 
illustrates  well  the  saying  that  "  Fact  is  sometimes  stranger 
than  fiction,"  and  will  be  read  by  the  friends  of  the  late  Mr. 
Meeker  with  tender  regard.  Already  the  book  is  highly  praised 
by  numerous  purchasers  and  the  discriminating  press.  Besides 
being  filled  with  points  of  special  interest  to  Western  readers, 
the  book  contains  literary  merit  that  is  bound  to  place  it  among 
the  favorite  works  of  the  age. 

From  DENVER  REPUBLICAN— 

"Young  Konkaput,  the  King  of  Utes,"  and  several  other 
poems  written  by  Thomas  kelson  Haskell,  has  been  published 
in  very  attractive  form  by  Collier  &  Cleaveland,  of  this  city. 
The  main  poem,  representing  the  real  deserts  and  difficulties  of 
the  Indian  Question  in  the  United  States,  is  a  versified  Legend 
of  Twin  Lakes,  and  has  many  poetic  gems.  The  story  embodies 
the  rescue,  by  United  States  troops,  from  the  Arapahoes  and 


Sioux,  of  the  favorite  Ute  squaw,  Susan,  or  Shawsheen,  who  for 
her  gratitude,  in  turn  rescued  the  Meeker  women  The  tone  of 
the  poem  is  loftv,  and  the  descriptive  passages  are  strong  and 
finely  drawn.  Mr.  Haskell  is  a  Colorado  man,  and  he  has 
cleverly  interwoven  his  story  so  as  to  present  the  mpst  intt-rest- 
ing  scenes  and  Indian  romances  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region. 

from    THE  DENVER   TIMES— 

Prof.  Hask ell's  book  of  poems  entitled  "  King  Konkaput," 
is  fresh  from  the  press  of  Collier  &  Cleaveland,  and  is  worthy  of 
popular  favor.  "  King  Konkapul"  is  the  story  of  the  Indian 
Ouestion  told  in  pleasing  rhyme,  and  the  author  evidently  saw 
the  good  side  of  the  noble  red  man.  The  book  is  certainly 
worthy  the  support  it  is  receiving. 

from    THE  DENVER  EYE— 

The  story  of  "  Konkaput,  tht?  King  of  Utes,  and  Shawsheen, 
His  Maiden  Queen,"  is  of  thrilling  interest,  and,  told  in  Profes- 
sor HaskelPs  inimitable  style  of  poesy,  it  holds  the  reader's 
closest  attend  >n  from  beginning  to  end  HaskelPs  Occasional 
Poems  (bound  in  the  same  volume),  is  a  collection  of  many  of 
the  lichest  gems  of  thought  that  has  flown  from  this  poet's 
gifted  pen,  some  of  which  have  before  appeared  in  the  current 
literatufe  of  the  day.  The  book  has  been  issued  both  in  paper 
covers  and  in  elegant  cloth  and  morocco  binding,  and  reflects 
much  credit  upon  the  publishers,  Collier  &  Cleaveland.  Profes- 
sor HaskelPs  poetical  genius  is  too  well  known  to  require  any 
endorsement  from  the  press,  and  now  that  he  has  presented  to 
the  public,  so  many  of  his  poems  in  a  collected  form,  they  will 
doubtless  meet  a  very  flattering  reception  at  its  hands. 

from    THE  MILITARY  REVIEW— 

We  have  "Young  Konkaput  and  Occasional  Poems,"  by 
Thomas  Nelson  Haskell,  which  are  profusely  illustrated.  To  a 
lover  of  real  poetry,  original  thought  and  dramatic  situations, 
we  are  convinced  these  poems  will  be  of  the  deepest  interest. 

From  GOLDEN  GLOKE— 

Prof.  HaskelPs  "  Legend  of  Twin  Lakes"  is  a  book  setting 
forth  very  fully  the  Ute-Meeker  Massacre,  and  treats  the  Indian 
Ouestion  in  a  masterly  manner.  We  commend  it  to  the  reading 
public. 


COLORADO  SPRIXGS  GAZETTE— 

"  Young  Konkaput,  the  King  of  the  Utes,  a  Legend  of  Twin 
Lakes,1'  is  the  title  of  a  volume  by  Thomas  Nelson  Haskell 
which  has  just  been  issued.  The  book  is  written  in  an  attractive 
and  simple  style  of  verse.  The  author,  in  the  preface,  states 
that  the  work  has  been  prepared  chiefly  for  the  youth  of  Amer- 
ica, and  its  practical  object  is  to  impress  upon  the  rising  public 
some  of  the  real  deserts  and  difficulties  of  the  Indian  Question. 
Professor  Haskell's  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  habits  and 
traits  of  character  of  the  Red  man,  especially  fitted  him  for  the 
preparation  of  the  work.  He  has  made  it  not  only  an  interest- 
ing story  but  a  useful  one  to  those  studying  the  important  ques- 
tions connected  with  the  welfare  of  the  Indians.  The  author 
needs  no  introduction  to  our  readers.  His  work  in  behalf  of 
Colorado  College  is  well  known  in  our  city,  and  his  deep  interest 
in  the  educational  and  other  interests  of  the  State  in  general 
have  made  his  name  familiar  throughout  the  State.  The  book 
will  be  found  at  book  stores,  bound  both  in  paper  and  cloth. 


FOR  SALE  BY 

CHAIN,     HARDY    &    CO., 

BOOKSELLERS,  STATIONERS  AND  PUBLISHERS, 

16O9-1615    ARAPAHOE     STREET, 
DENVER,     COLORADO. 


Konkaput,  paper  cover $     50 

Occasional  Poems,  paper  cover      50 

Both  in  one  volume,  cloth              r  50 

Both  in  one  volume,  morocco 2  50 

Domestic  Poems,  cloth 50 


'00? 


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